


Cataclysm

by ashisverymuchonfire



Series: Wanderlust [2]
Category: Bandom, Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: Alcohol, Band Fic, Breaking Up & Making Up, Getting Back Together, M/M, Making Up, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Return, Road Trips, kellic - Freeform, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 00:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4040239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisverymuchonfire/pseuds/ashisverymuchonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>cataclysm [KAT-uh-kliz-uhm]<br/>n.,<br/>a violent upheaval that causes great destruction or brings about a fundamental change</em>
</p><p>After leaving Kellin, Vic ends up in a confusing sort of relationship with his ex-boyfriend, Craig. Craig can't seem to figure out what he wants, but when he kicks Vic to the curb, Vic decides to take matters into his own hands. One year later, he finds himself sober, but his dreams of being in a band are going down the drain. So when he hears about a band in Oregon that's in need of a guitarist, he jumps at the opportunity—only to discover that the lead singer of this band is none other than Kellin Quinn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tried to Wash You Down With Something Strong

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Sequel time.
> 
> So this is gonna start out one day after the end of Wanderlust. Also: Remember how Wanderlust was all in Kellin’s POV? Well, this is going to be different. This entire fic is going to be in Vic’s POV. The warnings for this fic are pretty much the same as what was in Wanderlust: alcohol and/or drug use, smut, and some other dark/triggering topics/thoughts.
> 
> And, okay, so Kellin doesn't officially reappear in this chapter. Bear with me and keep reading; he will arrive.

My favorite thing about waking up has always been those first few seconds, the seconds where I don’t know anything.  
  
I think we all know the feeling—the shift from unconsciousness to consciousness, where you’re still half-asleep and have to remember once again where you are and who you are and what it is that you’re waking up to. I always like to avoid those things for as long as possible, burying myself back into the covers and closing my still-tired eyes in the hopes of at least just lying there, knowing in the back of my mind that I’m only postponing the inevitable.  
  
To be quite honest, these particular feelings had been leaving me alone for a while, because for a while, I had something to look forward to waking up to. Today, though? Today I am alone…except I’m not.  
  
I notice it when I roll over, brushing against a somewhat larger body in the bed. I rub my eyes and let them slowly open, then take in the still-sleeping form of none other than Craig Owens. That’s when I notice the slightly different color of the walls, the way the bed looks and feels a bit different, now that I’m actually focused on it. And then I realize something else: I’m half-naked, and so is Craig.  
  
And here it comes, the inevitable reality as I remember everything that happened just yesterday. Was it really yesterday already? Has time sped up? It feels like the world should’ve at least paused. But of course it didn’t. Time has passed, and more time will pass, because that’s the way it works.  
  
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I broke up with Kellin Quinn and let him drive back home to Oregon, and then I cried on the front porch swing, wondering why I had to fuck everything up by thinking I’d fallen for him.  
  
Craig found me and took me to a club with him, promising that a night out would make me feel better. And so I went along with it, and I got really fucking drunk just like I always do, and then…  
  
It takes me a bit longer to remember that piece of information, but after struggling a bit with my slow, hungover mind, I manage to recall the dripping sweat, the roaming hands, the feeling of bodies pressed together.  
  
That memory makes me cringe; I can’t help but feel like I’m betraying somebody—specifically Kellin—by having sex with Craig. I start to search for my shirt, which is when Craig himself stirs, reaching out and running a hand across my chest. “Hmm? Vic?” he says groggily, rubbing his eyes. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”  
  
I grimace, finding my shirt on the floor next to the bed and pulling it over my head. “Uh, you brought me to your house,” I say, my voice coming out rough and scratchy.  
  
"Did I say you could sleep in my bed?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me condescendingly. Either it’s a trick question, or he really doesn’t remember.  
  
"Um…you didn’t say I couldn’t," I say slowly, climbing out of the bed and pushing some hair out of my face. "We, uh…we had sex." I grimace again as I say it out loud. I might’ve consented last night, but now it’s the next day, and I regret it. Not that it’s the first time I’ve done something while drunk that I regretted in the morning.  
  
"I have a boyfriend, Vic," Craig states. "I don’t want to see you."  
  
That stings, but I can’t stop myself from pointing out, “You’re the one who initiated it.”  
  
Craig glares at me—shit. Bad idea. “Honey, like I’d  _ever_  want you back.”  
  
"Last night, that’s exactly what you were saying to me." Fuck. Shut up, Vic.  
  
"I was drunk," he says. "I don’t even remember why the hell I was with you in the first place. It was a mistake. You know it was."  
  
He’s right—I  _do_  know that. I nod slowly. “I’ll…I’ll go, then.”  
  
Craig nods, making a shooing motion with his hands. “Yeah. Go.”  
  
Without another word, I turn around and make my way out of the room and then out the front door. His words don’t faze me as much as they used to; he gets like this a lot. It’s just confusing me, because one minute he’s making out with me and trying to win me back, but the next, he’s telling me he never wants to see me again. I don’t know where we stand anymore. I don’t even know where I want us to stand anymore.  
  
When I get back home, I find Jaime eating cereal at the table in the kitchen. He looks up at me when I walk in, digging through the pantry before eventually settling on just a PopTart and sitting down across from him. The silence is awkward, because both of us have things that we need to say but that neither of us are willing to actually say. I’m not really willing to eat somewhere else, though; this is a conversation that we need to get over with.  
  
So, once Jaime has finished and put his bowl in the sink, he finally turns to me and says, “So, I guess you did it, then.”  
  
I stand up. “Did what?”  
  
He shrugs. “You know. Broke up. With, uh, with Kellin.”  
  
I nod slowly, biting my lip. “Yeah.”  
  
It wasn’t Jaime that told me to break up with Kellin. He didn’t even suggest it in the first place. That was all me. It was my mind that said those things. Jaime was just the last person I talked to before it happened; he was the one I ranted to, and even though I’m pretty sure at least half of the shit I said made absolutely no sense to him—some of it didn’t even make much sense to me, to be honest—he kept a level head and just gave me some advice.  
  
"So…why did you do it?" he asks. "Y’know, in the end…what did you decide for yourself that led to that?"  
  
I sigh, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I just couldn’t do it.”  
  
Jaime narrows his eyes. “Couldn’t do what?”  
  
"I couldn’t keep dating him," I explain. "I couldn’t keep leading him on like that. That’s what it felt like. It felt like, even if I did love him, it wasn’t  _real_ love. It wasn’t him. I didn’t really love  _him_. I was just taking all that love for someone else and I was giving it to him and saying that I loved him. But I didn’t. I just needed to give that love to  _someone_ , because if I didn’t, I’d choke on it.” I look away from him, thinking of Kellin, thinking of the guilty ache in my chest whenever I looked at him yesterday, thinking of the stars in his eyes. Those eyes glimmered with absolute adoration every time they locked with mine, and that scared me to death.  
  
"Do you understand?" I ask softly, because I just want to know that I’m not completely crazy.  
  
Jaime nods. “I think so.” Then he makes a face, as if he’s thinking about something. “But to be honest, I think you’re even worse off with Craig than you were with Kellin. And I don’t like the thought of you going back to him.”  
  
"He wants me back," I blurt without thinking.  
  
Jaime raises an eyebrow. “He does?”  
  
I nod. “At least, he says he does. Sometimes. And then other times he pushes me away. But then he comes back to me. I don’t know. He’d do this sometimes when we were dating. He’d be hostile and ignore me for a little while, but then he’d always end up coming back to me.” I shrug. “He’s confusing.”  
  
"I think he’s manipulative."  
  
Deep down, I think I know he’s manipulative, but that doesn’t stop me from getting angry. It’s more of a natural reflex than anything else. “What do you mean? You think he’s playing with me or something?”  
  
"Well, yeah," Jaime says bluntly. "And I think you’re in denial about it."  
  
Deep down, I think I’m aware of that, too, but the denial rises up inside of me anyways. “He’s just confused. He doesn’t know what he wants.” Even I can taste the bullshit on my tongue, but I push that thought away. I don’t want to believe it.  
  
"Come on, Vic. Are you really still so wrapped around his finger that you’d deal with him picking you up and then pushing you back down, over and over and over again? That’s not you. Or, at least, it didn’t used to be."  
  
I don’t want to listen to what he’s saying, so instead, I turn away. “Shut up, Jaime. You don’t know him.”  
  
"I know him well enough to see what’s going on, and I’m not biased like you are."  
  
"You’re seeing it all wrong. You don’t know him like I do." With that, I storm out of the kitchen and up to my room, where I lock the door and grab my guitar. Jaime knocks multiple times, telling me that I can’t just ignore all this forever, and I know he’s right about that, but I don’t want to admit it. I just want to hide away for a few hours, and I guess eventually he finally gets that, because he leaves me alone.  
  
So for a while I’m just absentmindedly playing, even singing softly to myself, and everything is good until my hands start to strum a familiar progression without my consent. I can hear the words in my head, but I don’t sing them because it feels like someone else should be.  
  
The song is “Alone Together”, and the “someone else” is Kellin Quinn.  
  
I stop abruptly, letting the sudden silence fill the air. I’m thinking of his insecurities, how he never thought that he could sing. I’m thinking of the day we sang this song together just for the hell of it.  
  
Without thought, I find myself reaching for my phone and searching for the recording we made. Then I close my eyes and just listen.  
  
I don’t know why I’m doing this, exactly. Maybe it’s just because the wound from breaking up is still so fresh and new, and it doesn’t help that I’m the one who made it in the first place. But I know I can’t have him back, so I’m just going to have to let it fade.  
  
At the very end, there’s a long pause before the recording stops, and I remember why: I forgot to shut it off at first because I was too busy staring at him in awe, feeling myself falling in love—or what I  _thought_  was love.  
  
—  
  
Tonight, I’m planning on getting drunk. Again.  
  
I know from experience that this is an amazingly bad idea, but reasoning is not my friend right now, so I find myself going out anyways. The sky is darkening, and somehow, I can tell that it’s going to be a long night. Does this faze me? No. Not at all.  
  
It’s not too hard to find a club. I’m not really picky; I just need a place that serves alcohol, which is pretty much every place. I take my familiar position on one of the barstools and start off with something strong. I think the bartender can see it in my face, can hear it in the tone of my voice: I’m not fucking around tonight.  
  
The thought of Kellin disappears more and more with every shot. That’s what has triggered this, just like it did last night. That’s what I want to forget, the way his voice shook yesterday as he cried into my shoulder, as he begged me to let him stay, as I pushed through the pain and told him it would be best for him to forget me.  
  
At some point, a random guy starts talking to me. He’s probably about as wasted as I am, but neither of us cares; we just talk about things I can’t remember and things that probably don’t matter. He tells me his name, but in the next five minutes, I’ve already forgotten it.  
  
For a while, everything is good, but I was stupid to think that it would last. The guy leaves after a while, and at around that same time, I start to feel like shit. That’s a gradual feeling, but before I know it I’m downing even more shots in an attempt to get rid of the feeling. It doesn’t work, of course. It just gets worse, a twist in my stomach, a blurring of my vision, a tightening of my chest, a spinning and pounding in my head.  
  
I’ve gotten drunk like this so often that I feel like I should be used to these feelings by now.  
  
I’m not, though, so I find myself climbing off of the barstool and heading out of the club, unsteady and feeling sick. I end up sitting down right outside and resting my back against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest and groaning. I feel like the world is falling apart around me.  
  
This makes me think of those drunken nights with Kellin, when he’d take me back to our hotel every time I lost control of myself. It made me feel horrible, because I wanted to help him and protect him and make him feel safe, not the other way around. I wanted to worry about him and hush his cries and wrap my arms around him to calm him. I didn’t want to feel useless. I didn’t want to feel like I was dragging yet another person down with all my issues.  
  
Fuck. I’m thinking about him. I’m nowhere near as sober as I was a few hours ago, and I’m  _still_  thinking about him.  
  
I rest my head in my knees, and a few seconds later, a hand softly takes my wrist. “Hey, Vic,” says a familiar voice. “What are you doing out here all alone?”  
  
For a crazy, delusional moment, I think that it’s Kellin, but a split second later, I realize who it really is and look up. Craig is standing in front of me, holding my wrist in his hand and staring at me with what looks like concern.  
  
"I—um…" I stammer, because I don’t know what to say. "I was…thinking about someone."  
  
"And you got drunk?" he concludes, sitting down next to me. I nod. "Well," he says, "I’m worried about you, you know."  
  
I just nod again, making a small whimpering noise. “I think I miss him.” I can barely get the words out.  
  
Craig wraps an arm around me. “Who is it?”  
  
"K-Kellin," I stutter. "My ex…ex-boyfriend."  
  
"Well, I want to help you forget about him," Craig says. "I don’t like seeing you like this."  
  
I nod for a third time, because I’m not sure what else to do. “Um…okay.”  
  
"I’m gonna take you home," he adds, standing and helping me up. I just go along with it.  
  
The longer he’s with me, the better I feel. Kellin gets pushed to the back of my mind. Craig’s affection feels nice, and I can’t help but smile and think that I was right—he wants me back. Or, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to date me, at least he cares about me.  
  
I’m too intoxicated to question anything. All I know is that I like Craig by my side as he helps me back to my house, and I like the things he says to me, and I like the way that everything he does makes me feel so much better.  
  
This whole moment just serves as a reminder:  _Craig is here and Kellin isn’t. You broke up with Kellin. Forget about him. Just forget about him._


	2. I Know What I Should Do, But I Just Can't Turn Away

He’s kissing me in my bedroom, and I’m kissing back the same way. It’s fast and messy because of how drunk I am, but he doesn’t seem to care, pressing his body closer to mine and running his hands underneath my shirt. I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull him with me to the bed, falling down on it with him on top of me. Our lips never break contact, instead moving perfectly in sync as he makes out with me. The scene was almost exactly the same last night, but I’m too wasted to care as he pulls our clothes off and tosses them to the floor.  
  
It’s not too hard to guess what happens next.  
  
—  
  
When I wake up the next morning, I am alone, which is kind of new. For a while now, I’ve been waking up next to Kellin, and before that, it was Craig. It’s strange not to have a body pressed up against mine, and after a few short moments, I remember two things: 1. Kellin is gone. 2. Last night, I fell asleep with Craig—who, it seems, isn’t here.  
  
I put my shirt on and drag myself out of bed, feeling dirty and used. My head is pounding even worse than it was the night before, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Still, I force myself to make my way downstairs in the faint hope that Craig is just in the living room or something.  
  
After a brief survey of the house, I find that not only is he gone; Jaime is, too, though that’s probably because he’s at work. Well, this is just fucking great—I’m hungover and abandoned by the guy I just had sex with…again. I guess I deserve it.  
  
I take some painkillers and then lie down on the couch, focusing my gaze on the coffee table in an effort to get the world to stop spinning.  _God, if only it were that easy with emotional pain,_  I think randomly, in regards to the painkillers.  _Just take a little pill, and within half an hour, your mind is calm and content._  
  
Although, you actually  _can_  kill emotional pain with painkillers. You just need a lot of them.  
  
My heart speeds up at the shock of my own idea. I haven’t thought about killing myself since…well, I guess it was the night that I got drunk in Pittsburgh. I don’t remember it, but according to Kellin, I told him I wanted to die. I wouldn’t be too surprised.  
  
Fuck. Now  _there’s_  a memory. It’s a memory of that night in Pittsburgh—not the one where I got drunk, but the one after that, the one where we rode up the Duquesne Incline, where we looked out at the city from far away, where we kissed above the lights and the water and the chaos. That was the night that I noticed the stars in his eyes—the things they held in their bright, colorful depths. I can still picture them twinkling. Those eyes could light up the whole world.  
  
I find myself longing to have him back, his head on my chest and his soft breathing in my ear, but then I think of the voice that would interrupt my thoughts every moment I’d spend with him: You don’t love him.  _You just want someone, because you can’t handle being alone. Look at what a horrible person you’ve turned into._  
  
I know it’s true, and I can’t live with that.  
  
I want to talk to someone about it, anyone at all, but I have a feeling that nobody really understands it, even if Jaime says he does. Everyone knows how it feels to get their heart broken, but who the fuck knows what it’s like to use someone because of it? Who the fuck would understand when I say that it was the loneliness and heartache speaking, not love? How can I possibly explain it without being looked at as heartless? I can’t. I know I can’t. Because I  _am_  heartless, aren’t I?  
  
—  
  
"Vic, we’ve decided to break through your horrific existential crisis by taking you night-karting."  
  
This is what Jaime says to me as soon as he gets home, Tony and Mike following him into the house. I’ve barely moved all day. Fucking hell.  
  
"No," I say. "Leave me to wallow in self-hatred." I’m only half-kidding.  
  
"Questioning your every action is not going to help anything," Jaime states bluntly, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. "Your mind is being really dumb and inconvenient right now, so I think you should do something mindless."  
  
"Ignoring my problems isn’t going to help anything, either," I point out.  
  
"You’re not going to come to a solution if all you do is go over the same things a million times. Now come on. The night is young."  
  
They mean well, I know they do, but because my mind is—just like Jaime said—dumb and inconvenient, I find myself remembering the last time I went to this go-kart place. It was with Kellin, of course; that was the night that the term “night-karting” came to be. I lose myself in the tracks, in the races, in the here and now, so that I don’t have to remember it all.  
  
Fuck. What would he think of me if he got into my head?  
  
By the time we get back home, I’m already sort of fucked up, my thoughts bouncing around from this to that. I should probably just get to sleep and end it right there, but that’s the moment when a text pops up onto my screen, a text from Craig:  
  
 _I need you. Come over._  
  
I really should hate him by now, but I don’t. I don’t know why. It’s fucking me up. I’m so not over him, and even though everything inside of me is screaming that this whole thing is a bad idea, I find myself heading out the front door and through the neighborhood anyways.  
  
I don’t even know what I’m doing, or why I’m doing it. I should not be willing to come whenever I’m called like a fucking animal. I should not be willing to let him have sex with me and then kick me to the curb with no remorse. I should not be so wrapped up in him, and I have no idea how it came to be this way. Add that to the list of things that are wrong with me.  
  
When I get to Craig’s house, he answers the door before I even reach the porch, beckoning for me to come inside. I do, unable to stop myself from blurting out, “What about your boyfriend?” It’s something that’s been bothering me, that he’s used me to cheat on someone. I don’t want to be a part of that.  
  
"I broke up with him," he replies smoothly, which catches me off-guard. Surely he couldn’t have broken up with the guy just for me. He wouldn’t do that. Would he?  
  
"Why?" I ask as he takes my hand and leads me upstairs.  
  
"Because. I always liked you better," he explains simply. "And so you don’t have a guilty conscience about anything."  
  
When we get to his room, all the talking stops, Craig pressing me against the wall as his lips attack mine. He’s fast and rough, like he’s starving for me, even though this is the third night in a row that this has happened, and the only time where we’ve both been sober.  
  
I let him do all these things to me, let him have his way with me, but at this point, it just feels mechanical, like I’m disconnected from everything that’s going on. Really, I’m only doing this to please him, but the whole time, my mind is in a different place. Kellin is gone, so I’m running back to Craig, letting him use me like a toy so I can forget about everything else. Maybe this is why he can’t stay away from me, why I always crawl back to him: He and I, we’re both horrible. We deserve each other.


	3. Playing With My Head

The guilt hits me before I even open my eyes. Somehow I just know, right at the moment that I come back into consciousness, where I am and who I’m with and what happened last night to get me in this situation. And I hate it.  
  
I hate it because here I am again, nothing but Craig’s fuck buddy, doing whatever he says because my tongue is apparently unable to form the word “no”, because part of my mind still doesn’t even want it to…because after all this time, I’m still attached to him.  
  
I get dressed and drag myself out of the bed before Craig even wakes, and I leave while he’s still asleep and unaware. I don’t know what I’m doing or what I’m thinking, but if there’s one thing I  _do_  know, it’s that I’m still unhappy. It’s that I’ve been unhappy since before I even met Kellin. It’s that everything is fucked up and I don’t know how to fix it.  
  
—  
  
"Vic, I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure Craig’s lying about dumping his boyfriend."  
  
This is what Jaime says to me as we’re sitting out on the front porch swing. He just came home from work and found me out here smoking, so he sat down next to me, which is when I told him about what happened last night.  
  
"What do you mean?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time Craig has lied to me, but I can’t help but automatically feel defensive.  
  
He sighs. “As I was driving home, I saw them making out on a bench.”  
  
At this point, it really shouldn’t feel like I’ve been punched in the face—but, of course, it does. “Are you sure it was them?”  
  
Jaime nods. “Oh, yeah. I even slowed down a little just to make sure—they were too busy to notice me. They had the same tattoos and everything.”  
  
I shake my head. “But he said…”  
  
"Did you really  _believe_  him, Vic?”  
  
I stand up. “He wouldn’t—he said—you’re lying.” Deep down, I know he’s not lying, but my mind is scrambling for an excuse, and that’s the best that it seems to be able to come up with.  
  
"I’m not lying, Vic," Jaime says. "You know I’m not. I’m your best friend, dammit. I just want to help you with this, and I didn’t want to keep that a secret from you. I’m sorry."  
  
"He’s…" At that point, my mind drifts back to something Craig whispered to me last night, words that sent my heart racing, and I’m not sure if it was in a good way or a bad way or maybe a little bit of both.  
  
 _I still love you, Vic. You know that? You’re so much better than anyone else. You’re the only one I need._  
  
I know how much he lies and cheats, but he sounded so fucking serious when he said it, so fucking  _honest_. I think I wanted to believe it. I think I still do.  
  
"But why would he do that?" I ask softly, sitting back down. "Why would he date me for so long, and then just break up with me all of a sudden, and then try to get me back, and keep flipping back and forth between wanting me and not wanting me and making out with some other guy and making out with me and telling me he loves me?"  
  
"He’s a douche and he’s fucked up," Jaime tells me. "It’s not your fault that he can’t keep a steady relationship. It’s not your fault that he feels the need to do all this."  
  
I just sigh, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. “I wish he’d just make up his mind. Either stay with me and only me, or leave me alone and let me get over him.” I take a long drag, feeling the smoke calm me down a little at the very moment that I breathe it in.  
  
"Why don’t you just leave him?" Jaime points out. God, I wish it were that easy.  
  
"I don’t want to," I say. "Or, at least, part of me doesn’t." I hate having to say that. I hate that it’s the truth. I’m frustrated by my own state of mind, and I don’t know how to fix that, either.  
  
"Hey. There’s a party tonight," Jaime says after a few moments of silence. "We could go. Maybe it’ll take your mind off of things."  
  
"Bad things always happen at parties," I reply, letting my mouth quirk up on one side a little.  
  
"Aw, c’mon," Jaime teases, and just like that, the tension is broken.  
  
Not long after that, we pick up Mike and Tony, and then we’re off to yet another party. I try not to think about what happened the last time I went to a party, the crazy emotions that went through my intoxicated mind.  
  
When we get there, Mike and I end up leaning against the kitchen counter with drinks in our hands, just talking and teasing the way brothers do. Mike starts babbling about Tony and the wedding, and even though I can feel a small twinge of jealousy that he’s got a perfect life and I’m still trying to figure out mine, that feeling is completely overshadowed by how genuinely happy I am for him. He used to be really dark and brooding when we were younger, and I’m glad that he seems to have turned it around.  
  
My good mood is ruined when I’m roaming around the house and suddenly spot two people kissing in a corner of the living room. I didn’t know that either of them would be at this party, but I’m still not surprised to find that I’m looking at Craig, making out with his ex. Just like Jaime said he was only a few hours ago.  
  
Craig looks up and sees me, breaking the kiss. “Vic!”  
  
I just sigh and turn around, walking away. Of course Jaime was right. I knew it just as well as he did. I just didn’t want to believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. Fucking hell.  
  
I find Jaime hanging out on the couch in the living room, chatting with someone I’ve never met before. I sit down next to him, covering my face with my hands. “You were right,” I say to him, and before he has a chance to respond, I reach out for the bottle of vodka in his hand. “In completely unrelated news, can I have some of this?”  
  
Jaime snorts. “No. I don’t like you drinking.”  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"You know why not, asshole."  
  
He’s right—I know exactly why he, Mike, and Tony always monitor what I drink, even if it’s in a subtle fashion. I don’t really blame them, either.  
  
"Uh-oh," Jaime says suddenly, nudging me. "We have a Code Dickhead. Emotionally abusive somewhat-boyfriend, three o’clock."  
  
Then a hand grabs my shoulder, and I look up to see Craig, gesturing with one hand. “Come with me. We need to talk.”  
  
Jaime glares at him. “No. Vic’s staying right here.”  
  
Craig ignores him. “Come on. Five minutes, that’s all I need, and if you still hate me, then fine, I’ll leave.”  
  
The word “no” is right on the tip of my tongue, but this is what comes out instead: “Fine. Five minutes.”  
  
 _I want to jump off of a bridge._  
  
I let Craig lead me to a corner of the house where there aren’t that many people. Then he turns around and sighs. “I’m sorry.”  
  
"Yeah, right," I say automatically. "Thought you broke up with him."  
  
"I did. But you left me this morning, and I thought that you hated me, so I had to find someone else because I thought you were gone forever."  
  
It’s such a bullshit excuse—and it probably doesn’t help that he’s at least slightly drunk—but I find myself feeling a bit guilty anyways. What the fuck?  
  
God, he used to do this all the time: He’d do something bad to me, and whenever I objected or stated how I felt about it, he’d twist it around so that it was my fault somehow. I felt so invalid, just like I do now.  
  
"I’m sorry," I say. "I just…I…"  
  
"Wait, you don’t have to be sorry," he says, gaze seeming to soften. "I’m sorry. Okay? I fucked up. A lot."  
  
This surprises me. He never apologizes or takes the blame for anything he does. This is new.  
  
"What are you saying?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. I’m not sure how to feel about this. That one part of my brain that’s still attached to him should really shut the fuck up. I think I’m going to get a surgery to have it removed at this point.  
  
"I’m saying that I want us to keep going. I don’t want this to end."  
  
My Bullshit Meter is going off the charts, but then Craig kisses me, and I swear to God, his lips must be poisoned or something, because that’s what settles it.  
  
I’m going to really want to jump off of a bridge in the morning, and I won’t blame Jaime if he wants to be the one to push me.  
  
—  
  
"Vic, I don’t think this is working out."  
  
When Craig speaks those words to me the next morning, I can’t help but blame the alcohol for my Grand Moment of Stupid.  
  
I mean, I’ve been having a lot of those moments lately, but this has got to take the cake. I just caught him making out with his ex the night after he told me they’d broken up, the night after he said he loved me. He told me a few shitty words and gave me a kiss, and I took him back in a heartbeat. Who the fuck would be stupid and desperate enough to do that? Me, apparently. I was right—I really,  _really_  want to jump off of a bridge now.  
  
"You—what?" I say, staring at him. We’re back at his place, in his bed. He’s lying on his side, propping himself up with his elbow, while I’m completely sitting up.  
  
"I don’t think this is working out," he repeats. "I thought it could, but last night I realized that it just can’t."  
  
Well, it’s not worse than it was last time.  
  
"I…okay," I say slowly, climbing out of the bed. I still don’t know how to feel, because while on the one hand I want to jump for joy, on the other hand, I’m kind of… _sad_?  
  
At first I’m kind of confused as to why, but after I turn around and walk out of the house—just like that, acting as if it’s as easy as breathing—it starts to come to me. I hear Craig’s voice in my head over the last eight or nine months, telling me how wonderful I am, telling me how much he cares about me. In the end, I’ve been looking past all that he’s done, been blinded by those sweet words, and that’s why it hurts. It hurts because I stayed with him for those words, for what seemed like love, and now it’s gone. Again.  
  
I don’t cry, though. I just walk back home feeling numb and dazed, trying to figure out whether or not this is really the end. Craig broke up with me a month ago saying that it was over forever, but that didn’t last. Does that mean he’ll be back for me?  
  
I can’t help but cringe at that thought, and that’s when I make my decision: I don’t want him to come back. This breakup is like putting alcohol wipes on an open wound—it might sting now, but it’s used to help, not hurt.  
  
When I get home, I grab my guitar and play it for most of the day, singing out all the things that my lungs are begging me to say. I want to talk to Jaime, just so that I can get out what happened to someone, but he’s at work right now, so I settle for the empty air of the house, letting it listen to me as I lose myself in the music. It’s not bad, actually, and it makes me realize that this is what you have to do sometimes. Sometimes, you don’t really have someone to rely on, so you have to learn to cope by yourself.  
  
And surprisingly, I think I’m doing a decent job of that.  
  
Still, around the time that Jaime gets home, I find myself sitting out on the swing again, waiting. I can’t help it—this is important, and he’s my best friend.  
  
I tell him what happened, and he listens to every word. When I’m done, he stares at me for a few seconds before finally saying, “So…are you upset about it?”  
  
I shrug. “I don’t even know. Part of me is, but the other part of me is just glad that he’s gone.” Then I smile a little. “It’s okay if you want to let out a victory screech now.”  
  
Jaime breaks into a wide grin. “Hell yeah.”  
  
It doesn’t hit me until about an hour later, when my mind drifts to what I’m going to be doing tonight. It’s just casual, but it makes me realize that the past four nights have all somehow ended with Craig’s lips on mine. Tonight, though, I’ll be sleeping alone.  
  
I get up and head for the front door, but Jaime stops me before I can get there. “Where do you think you’re going?” he says sternly, leaning against the door and folding his arms over his chest.  
  
"Out," I say. I mean, it’s not a lie.  
  
"You are not getting drunk," Jaime says. "I won’t let you."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"You know why not."  
  
"I want to hear you say it, Jaime."  
  
I don’t expect those words to come out of my mouth, but I don’t regret them. Maybe it makes me an asshole, but I want Jaime to admit it. I want him to say it out loud instead of letting us both just ignore it.  
  
"Because it’s bad," he says simply. "Bad things happen when you’re drunk. You know that, Vic."  
  
I take a step closer. I don’t like facing the truth, especially since I’m the one who did what we’re talking about, but this has to be said. It has to be.  
  
"Tell me," I say. "Why don’t you want me drinking?"  
  
He sighs, and I can see him give up. “Because the night after Craig broke up with you, you got drunk, and then you nearly killed yourself.”  
  
There. He said it.  
  
I can’t help but remember what Kellin and I used to say to each other, about giving all our secrets away. This is the one secret I never got a chance to tell him.  
  
It wouldn’t have been so bad if it was just a one-time thing—a temporary breakdown, a moment of insanity—but the truth is, this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about it. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it. I want to get rid of it, and drowning it in alcohol is the only way I know how.  
  
"Okay," I say finally, letting out a deep breath. "I’ll stay home tonight. Okay? I’ll…I don’t know, read a book or something. I’ll do something."  
  
We end up on the couch, flipping through TV channels. “So,” Jaime says as he searches for something interesting. “Do you think he’s gonna come back for you, or is it really finally over?”  
  
I shrug. “He might try to get me back, but I won’t let him. It’s over for me.” It feels so strange to say these words out loud, but I’m proud of them, and I’m proud that they’re true.  
  
Jaime really smiles then—he knows I mean almost everything I say, and this is no exception. “Oh my God. This is beautiful. I’d throw a party, but you said it yourself: Bad things always happen at parties.”  
  
I laugh a little, but then things get serious again. “So…what are you going to do now?” Jaime asks me.  
  
That’s the moment that I make another decision. “You know what, Jaime? I’m going to try to fix myself.”


	4. A Year Goes By, and I Can't Talk About It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. I've been posting my pre-written stories all day, but this is all I've written so far of Cataclysm. So now we're caught up. So now, like I said, you'll have to deal with my terrible updating.
> 
> As you can probably tell by the title, there is quite a large time skip in this chapter. Also, a certain someone finally makes a reappearance ;)

The thing about life is that it doesn’t stop for anyone or anything. It doesn’t stop to let me just painlessly forget about Kellin or Craig; it doesn’t give me an easy fix. It just keeps going and going, and it’s your job to keep up with it, and before you know it summer rolls around again, and you realize that the last time you got drunk was four months ago, and you realize that you still don’t know what you’re doing with your life or how you’re going to make it work, and you realize that it’s been about a year since you last saw your pretty boyfriend from Oregon with the weird ex and the best friend who nearly died, and then you realize that he’s not your boyfriend but your ex-boyfriend and you wonder why it’s taken you so long to figure all of this out and where the hell all that time went.  
  
Or, at least, that’s what happens to me.  
  
It’s hard at first, not relying on alcohol, but it gets easier. I teach myself new ways to cope on the days that it feels like the world is going to come down on me. This mostly consists of me playing my guitar, singing songs, even writing some. It’s so crazy to think that I don’t need to drown my sorrows to survive.  
  
The other major good thing is that Craig doesn’t come back for me. He seems to have completely cut me out of his life, and it’s better for both of us that way. It hurts in the beginning, but gradually, I become comfortable with waking up to only my own heartbeat. I mean, of course it’d be nice to have someone by my side, but now I know I can live and breathe without that second heartbeat—my own heart beats enough to keep me alive.  
  
On the other hand, though, I can’t help but feel a bit scared. I’m scared because time is slipping right through my hands—an entire fucking year has passed, and I barely even noticed it until now. I’m scared because my future is uncertain, and the future is becoming the present.  
  
I’ve had jobs throughout the year, mostly working in retail, but that’s not what I want to do with the rest of my life. The only thing I’m passionate about is making music—I don’t even have to be well-known or famous or anything—but that doesn’t seem to be working out. There’s a pretty decent-sized music scene in San Diego, but apparently I don’t fit into any of it, considering that every band I join (or try to join) either breaks up, kicks me out, or I end up leaving for one reason or another. I’ve even attempted to go solo, but that just doesn’t feel right. It’s not even in a co-dependent way or anything—it’s just that I’ve been in bands before, and I prefer it to being by myself. That’s just me.  
  
I’ve been trying to find somewhere to fit in for a while now. I’ve even tried to find other lone musicians, longing to be a part of something bigger, but it’s never worked out. It’s as if the world just doesn’t want me to succeed.  
  
 _I hope your music changes someone’s life the way it changed mine. But with a happier ending._  
  
The voice that pops into my head is startling, a voice I’ve tried not to think about. It’s the voice of a shy, awkward person who heard me singing and playing alone on a beach and came over just go tell me how good it was. It’s the voice of someone who firmly believed that my music could shape the world. It’s the voice of someone I’ve been trying so hard to forget about, since the very moment I broke up with him.  
  
God,  _Kellin_.  
  
My feelings for him are still so jumbled and confusing, and at this point, I’ve given up on trying to decipher them. They’re just  _there_ , a myriad of thoughts and feelings and memories. That’s all he’ll ever be anymore—a memory. And, in a weird way, I’m glad. I don’t have to poison his life anymore. He can find someone better.  
  
As for me…well, I still don’t know where I’m headed, and I’m running low on ideas. I just hope I can figure something out.  
  
(And that’s what you missed on  _Glee_.)  
  
—  
  
"Sorry, Vic, but I just don’t think it’s working out."  
  
So says the lead singer of the band I joined not too long ago. We’re standing in his large basement, where we practice, and he’s telling me that they don’t want me in the band anymore. Of fucking course.  
  
"Why not?" I ask, and I mean it. I actually haven’t had many problems with these people. I’ve been feeling kind of optimistic about them. I’ve been thinking that I could see myself working with them for a while.  
  
He shakes his head. “It’s just…we found someone who’s, y’know…a better fit, I guess. It’s nothing personal, really. We just felt that it would be for the best if you went your own way.”  
  
I nod slowly. I’ve gotten used to these things by now. “I…okay.”  
  
"But on the upside," he adds, surprising me, "I recently found out about a band that could use you, if you’re willing to make the trip up."  
  
Now he definitely has my interest. Suddenly, I don’t care all that much that his band won’t have me, if he knows one that will. “What band? Trip up where?”  
  
"Uh, they’re called Sleeping with Sirens, and they’re from Oregon," he explains. "My friend lives up there, says he saw them play at a shitty venue one time; he thinks they’re going places. But he also says he heard that the lead singer’s kinda hard to get along with at first. But yeah, they’re looking for a guitarist. He even gave me the address—y’know, for where they normally practice—so I could give that to you if you want." Then he laughs at himself. "God, I sound like I’m so eager to get rid of you."  
  
I can’t help but laugh, too. “No, it’s fine, really; I understand. And, yeah, I could probably use that address.” I don’t care if the lead singer’s hard to get along with, and I also don’t really care that I’m going to have to travel up to Oregon for this. If this is a chance, then I’m going to take it. I’m desperate, okay?  
  
He nods, and within a few more minutes of conversation, I’m gone, waving goodbye, my mind already drifting from this band to the next. Sleeping with Sirens—is that supposed to be a sexual innuendo or something? I’ll admit, it doesn’t exactly seem promising, but it’s the best I’ve got, and it’s a hell of a lot better than nothing.  
  
I tell Jaime as soon as I get home—we still live together, though he’s had a girlfriend for a while now, and I think they’re starting to get pretty serious, so that might not be true for long. He’s sitting on his laptop at first but turns his full attention to me once I start talking. His initial reaction is this: “So you’re moving to  _Oregon_?”  
  
"Not  _moving_ ,” I say—that sounds way too permanent, and it’s definitely not what I had in mind. “Just traveling up there. I mean, you’ve seen how all these other bands have worked out. With my luck, I’ll be back by the end of the month. But I have to at least try it.”  
  
"Some sketchy Oregon band with a bitchy lead singer is gonna be your savior," he says skeptically. "You sure about this?"  
  
"I’m completely sure," I reply. It’s not the full truth—obviously, I’ve got a few doubts, but those doubts aren’t enough to sway me from my decision. I’m heading to Oregon, and nothing that anybody does or says is going to stop me.  
  
—  
  
I leave in the morning, giving myself more time to pack my things and tell Mike and Tony, who are now officially married, as of August 16. Tony doesn’t say too much, as usual, but he seems pretty supportive of the whole thing, in a sort of do-what-you-want kind of way. Mike states that he thinks I’m a bit too spontaneous and shouldn’t make a decision like that so quickly, but after I pull the classic I’m-the-older-brother-so-you-have-no-right-to-lecture-me card, he lightens up and tells me, “Well, have fun with the asshole lead singer.”  
  
"Oh, I will," I reply. "Just watch—we’ll hit it off immediately, and if it’s a guy, I’ll end up dating him."  
  
Mike snorts. “Whatever.”  
  
With that, I’m off, leaving just as the sun rises in the hopes that maybe I’ll reach Oregon before it sets. I’m not quite sure why, but for the past year, I’ve had a bit of an aversion to driving at night; I only do it if I have to. It just has an uneasy sort of vibe that I guess I never really noticed or cared about before.  
  
Luckily, it’s not too late in the evening by the time I get there, but it’s late enough that I don’t think the band would be practicing at the moment, so I find a cheap hotel and just stay there for the night. It doesn’t hit me that I’m not in San Diego anymore until right before I fall asleep, when I have a random thought:  _Hey, wasn’t Kellin from Oregon?_  
  
Of course he was—I could never forget about that—but I’m too tired to dwell on it any further.  
  
When I wake up, it takes me a few moments to remember where I am, but when I do, I can’t help but feel excited. It’s a new day, at a new place, with a new band. Maybe this change of scenery will make a difference.  
  
At around eleven, I make my way to the address I was given, which leads me to a random sort of building. It doesn’t look like it’s used for anything in particular—mostly just miscellaneous things, probably—but it seems fairly nice nonetheless, and there are a few cars parked around it, hopefully belonging to members of the band.  
  
I grab my guitar and head up to the door, knocking on it and standing there awkwardly for a few seconds before a young, dark-haired guy answers it. “Hey!” he says, smiling widely. “Can I safely assume you’re here because we need a guitarist?” He nods at my guitar case.  
  
"You can," I say, smiling back at him. I like this guy—he seems friendly. "I’m Vic. Fuentes."  
  
The guy laughs a little. “I love the dramatic pause between your first name and your last. Like you’re fucking James Bond or something.” Then he takes my hand and shakes it. “I’m Jack. Fowler.”  
  
I laugh, too. Jack must not be the lead singer, because I’m getting along with him already.  
  
He gestures for me to follow him, and I do, letting him lead me into the building and down the hallway. “This place isn’t really used for much,” he explains as we walk, “but somewhere along the line, someone put in a recording studio, so it’s where we’ve started hanging out. You’re right on time—we’re just about to start practicing. Well, once Kellin gets here. The little bitch is late again.”  
  
I stop in my tracks, feeling like I’ve just been punched in the face. I must’ve heard wrong. “ _Kellin_?”  
  
"Yeah," Jack says, seemingly oblivious to my sudden mood change. "He’s our lead singer."  
  
 _It’s just a coincidence,_  I think in a panic, forcing my feet to start moving again.  _They just happen to have the same name. They just happen to both live in Oregon. They just happen to both have good singing voices. It’s a coincidence. A silly, stupid coincidence._  
  
"How’d you find out about us, anyways?" Jack asks, changing the subject.  
  
"I, uh…a friend of a friend," I say, trying to push away the thoughts of Kellin Quinn. "I’m from San Diego."  
  
“ _San Diego_?” He lets out a low whistle. “And what made you come all the way up here?”  
  
"Uh…desperation, mostly," I say truthfully.  
  
Jack laughs. “Well, at least you’re honest. Must’ve been pretty damn desperate.” He pushes a door open, leading me into the studio, where two guys are hanging out in a sound booth, one pacing back and forth and one sitting back at the drum set. “Guys, we’ve got someone new!” Jack says. “Get your asses out here.”  
  
The pacing guy throws his hands up, opening the door and shouting, “Hallelujah!”  
  
The guy at the drum set comes out after him. “Any sign of Kellin?”  
  
Jack shakes his head. “Nope.” He gestures to me. “Justin and Gabe, this is Vic. Vic, this is Justin, our bassist, and Gabe, our drummer.”  
  
The guy who was pacing—Justin—gives me a weird look at the mention of my name, but then he seems to dismiss it and simply waves. “Hi. We’re Sleeping with Sirens. And before you ask—because everyone always does—no, it’s not a sexual innuendo.”  
  
I open my mouth to reply, but then the door slams open violently, followed by the smell of cigarettes. “Sorry I’m late,” says an agonizingly familiar voice. “No excuse. I’m just a lazy asshole. I wanted to have a smoke before I came in because I know how much you guys hate it when I smoke in here, but then one smoke turned into, like, three. Or four, maybe. Don’t know. Lost count. Whatever.”  
  
"You’re gonna fuck up that pretty voice if you keep on smoking the way you do," Jack points out, but I’m not even listening anymore. I’m too busy staring in awe at the person who has just walked through the door.  
  
 _Kellin._  
  
His voice is slightly rougher than I remember. His hair is a bit longer, a bit greasier, and a lot more unruly, as if he hasn’t touched it in weeks. He’s got a bunch of tattoos that he didn’t have before. He gives off an entirely new vibe, one that’s colder, angrier. He’s completely different but exactly the same. He’s still Kellin,  _my_  Kellin. Except he’s not my Kellin, not anymore.  
  
My mind gets stuck on what he said about smoking three or four cigarettes in a row, on the distinct smell that stains his clothes. I asked him once whether or not he’d ever smoked, and he said that he hadn’t…and that he probably never would.  
  
So many things can change in a year.  
  
He doesn’t notice me at first, just walking into the room and pushing some hair out of his face. Then he turns around, and our eyes lock.  
  
"Guys," he says slowly, sounding as if he’s just seen a ghost, "what’s he doing here?"  
  
"Oh, that’s Vic. He wants to be our new guitarist," Jack says, still completely oblivious to what’s going on between us.  
  
Justin, on the other hand, is staring at me intensely. “Kellin, baby,” he says—I guess they’re dating. “Are you okay?”  
  
Kellin glances at him briefly. “I’ll—I’ll be right back,” he says, rushing out of the room without another word.  
  
After a few moments of stunned silence, I find myself chasing after him, ignoring the confused looks from Jack and Gabe and the full-on glare from Justin, who seems to have figured it all out—Kellin must’ve told him about us.  
  
"Kellin!" I call.  
  
"Who’s Kellin?" Kellin replies sarcastically as he turns into what looks like a bathroom. "You must have the wrong person. I don’t know anyone named Kellin. Please be on your way."  
  
I follow him in and find him leaning against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares at me, his hair falling into his face and partly obscuring his eyes. “How’d you even find me, anyways?” he asks. “It’s been a year.”  
  
"A friend of mine told me about a band up here that was looking for a guitarist, and I was desperate, so I came up here," I explain, just trying to figure out what the hell I’m feeling now that I’m seeing him again in the flesh. All the emotions that I’ve held back and pushed away this past year are threatening to finally show themselves, but I can’t break down right now. "I swear, I had no idea you were a part of this whole thing."  
  
Kellin just stares at me for a few moments, looking me up and down with an unreadable expression on his face. “I think you should leave,” he says finally. “Find another band to bless with your presence and musical genius.” I’m not quite sure if he’s being sarcastic or not.  
  
I bite my lip, unsure of what I want, of whether I want to stay or go. “That’s for the whole band to decide,” I say finally. “If it turns out that I could work with you guys, then I’m not gonna let some past relationship stop me.”  
  
Kellin sighs, staring at me for a little while longer. “I just…can’t believe you’re here,” he says finally. “I thought I’d never see you again.”  
  
I give him a sad little smile, my chest aching at the sight of him. “Well,” I say, “that makes two of us.”  
  
And that’s when he finally looks away from me.  
  
As we head back to the main room, there’s so much tension in the air that I’m surprised we don’t choke on it. I think both of us are trying not to look at each other but failing miserably. I can’t help it—it feels so surreal that he’s here with me again. It’s crazy.  
  
When we get back, the first thing I hear is Gabe saying, “So Vic turned out to be Kellin’s ex-boyfriend?”  
  
"Yep," Justin replies as we step into the room. His gaze hardens when he sees me, and he storms over to where I’m standing.  
  
"Justin," Jack warns.  
  
Justin doesn’t listen. “I don’t normally do this,” he says, “but you’re one heartless son of a bitch.” And then he punches me in the face.  
  
I can’t say I blame him.


	5. Your Starless Eyes Remain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi ok sorry this update took so long i took a break from this fic for a while but it's back now and it will be updated more regularly now!! like maybe once a week ish ??? also i can officially say now that this fic will be 21 chapters like Wanderlust was, except that this one will also have an epilogue (hence why it now says 5/22 chapters)
> 
> so yh that’s it and im just rly happy bc im excited to get back into this fic and im editing while listening to nicki minaj and im seeing a movie tonight and life is great here u go x

Pain blossoms around my eye from where Justin hit me, and I take a step back, gritting my teeth and reaching a hand up to touch my face. He doesn’t make a move to attack me again, but it looks like he wants to. In the background, Jack and Gabe are both yelling his name, and Kellin’s just standing by the side with his arms crossed and his hair in his face, uncaring.

This is the last thing I expected when I decided to come up to Oregon.

“Fuck you,” Justin says simply.

I nod, because I know; I really do. “Thanks for that,” I say in a tone of voice that implies that I’m being sarcastic when I’m actually not. “I’ve been meaning to punch myself for a while now.”

Jack and Gabe are trying to hold him back, even though he really isn’t going anywhere. He just stands there and glares at me. “Get out of here,” he says. “I don’t care how good you are. You’re not staying, and you’re certainly not playing with us.”

“Justin!” Gabe says. “Do you realize how badly we need this guitarist?”

“I don’t care,” Justin says.

Finally, Jack clears his throat and gestures to Kellin. “Personally, I think we should give it a shot, but, y'know, why don’t we ask the guy whose opinion of Vic probably matters the most?”

Kellin just stares at me for a long moment, biting his lip in an expression that I, surprisingly, can’t read at all. He used to be a bit more of an open book. “No,” he states emotionlessly.

Gabe groans, and then they’re arguing again. Jack turns to me apologetically and says, “If you don’t want to join anymore, I understand. But if you do, then you might wanna wait outside while we figure things out.”

I nod again and take that as my cue to make an escape before someone tries to kill me.

I end up sitting outside on the steps in front of the door, thinking about what sort of shit I’ve just gotten myself into. As weird as it is seeing Kellin again, and as tense as it is for us to have to work together, I can’t help but wonder if maybe we are each other’s last hopes, or something close to it. They need a guitarist, and I need a band.

Just the thought of being with Kellin again causes my heart to beat faster, though I’m not sure what that indicates—I’m trying to suppress everything that I’ve ever felt toward him, knowing that it was never real. I’m no longer hung up on Craig or anybody else, but it’s clear that Kellin wants nothing to do with me, especially not in a romantic sense. Letting myself want that is only setting myself up for another fallout, one that I can’t afford to have.

I hear the door open behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see Jack standing there. “Hey,” he says. “We’re still trying to reach an agreement, but we’re thinking that we want to at least hear you play something for us before we decide whether or not to kick you to the curb.” He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Really, I’m sorry for all this. Justin’s super defensive, as you can tell. I don’t know what happened between you and Kellin, but if you guys can get past it, then we might be able to use you.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, standing back up and following him inside.

Justin looks relatively calmer when we return, but the hostility is still there. He and Kellin are standing side by side against one wall, with Gabe pacing back and forth in the middle of the room. “The least we can do is just give him a chance,” the drummer says.

“He doesn’t deserve a chance,” Justin replies. “How many bands has this guy been kicked out of? He’s probably no good.”

“Oh, he’s good,” Kellin says, surprising me. He doesn’t look up at me, though; just keeps his gaze firmly on the floor.

Justin turns to look at him dubiously. “What?”

Kellin does look up at that. “I just said that he’s good,” he says. “I didn’t say that I like him. Or that I want him here.”

Jack clears his throat. “Okay. Guys. We’re gonna try this out, okay? Let’s have Vic go into the sound booth and play a little something for us. If we don’t think he’s what we’re looking for, or if we think we can find someone better, then he’s gone.”

Justin rolls his eyes. “Are you guys serious?”

“We’ve been looking for a while now, and I could probably count the number of people who’ve actually turned up on one hand,” Jack says sternly—he’s definitely a more level-headed member of the group. “We need someone. Even if it’s only temporary.”

Justin looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He just says, “I thought you valued Kellin’s opinion of this guy over anybody else’s. We all know he doesn’t think too highly of him.” He says this as if I’m not standing right in front of him.

“This band will not be jeopardized by one past relationship from over a year ago,” Jack says. “If he’s causing too many problems, we’ll give him the boot.” He glances at me. “If you could play for us…”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” I say quickly, not wanting to get involved in this argument or have to justify myself. I bring my guitar case into the sound booth and quickly get things set up, meanwhile wondering what sort of songs I could play for them that would win them over.

When I tell them that I’m ready, I mostly just go wild, picking out different melodies from songs I know and songs I’ve written myself, playing bits and pieces from each one. I make sure to get a wide range of material, and from the things that they’re saying and the looks on their faces, I can tell they’re at least somewhat impressed. Even Kellin, though he tries to hide it, is staring at me with that familiar awe hiding in his features. It’s just like when we first met.

Except it’s not.

Finally, Jack shoots me a reassuring smile and tells me that I can stop if I want to, that they’ve seen enough to make a decision. The fact that they aren’t all immediately shaking their heads or anything like that gives me hope, so I come back out of the sound booth and sit down in a random chair that doesn’t really seem to belong in here, though there’s also an old couch sitting against the wall.

“Okay,” Jack says in a businesslike fashion, clapping his hands together. “We might as well just do this in front of him, since I doubt it’ll take long anyway. So, even if we don’t want to admit it, we can all safely say that he’s good. Right?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says. Justin and Kellin both make vague noises of agreement.

“Okay, great,” Jack says. “Now here’s the more important question: is he good enough?”

“Yes,” Gabe says.

“No,” Justin returns.

“Yes, but I wish he wasn’t,” Kellin says in a defeated tone of voice.

Justin turns to him, once again dubious. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Kellin rolls his eyes. “What? I’m distinguishing Vic’s skill level from my personal preference. The facts from the opinions. No matter what you think of him as a person, you can’t say he’s not good, Jus.”

Justin sighs loudly. “Fine. Whatever. Yes, he’s good.”

Jack nods. “Okay. So based on skill level alone, can we all say that he’d be a valuable guitar player?”

Everyone agrees.

“Fantastic. Now. Do we want him, or do we think that him being a part of our band would cause too many personal problems for us to be able to work together?”

Justin stares at me long and hard, seeming to seriously consider it. “If he and Kellin had a past relationship, then who knows what could happen now that they’re back together?”

“Nothing would happen,” I say, feeling the need to speak up. “Kellin’s dating you, and you said it yourself—it’s not like he thinks too highly of me. If we can learn to be friends, then I think we could work, but I doubt it’ll be anything more than that. Not on my end, anyways—I don’t want to come between anything.”

“There wouldn’t be anything on my end, either,” Kellin agrees, surprising me again. Then he adds, “I’m not sure, though, if I want him here. If it’ll be…y'know…too much. To see him again.”

Now everyone’s looking at him; it’s clear from the tone of his voice that my presence being too much for him is a legitimate concern. There are a lot of memories between us, and they’ve all turned painful, even the ones that were sweet at the time.

“If it’s too much, I completely understand,” I say softly, because I do. “And I wouldn’t want to put you through that.”

Kellin’s eyes lock with mine through the mess of his hair, and at that, he seems to finally make a decision. “I can’t keep running from you forever,” he says quietly, and then it’s as if there’s no one else in the room, and it’s just us, all shaky voices and fast heartbeats. Those words are for nobody but me.

“Then it’s settled?” Jack says, breaking us out of our mutual trance. “Vic stays?”

“Vic stays,” Gabe says. Kellin and Justin both nod.

“Great.” Jack claps a hand on my shoulder. “Welcome aboard.”

I excuse myself to the bathroom shortly after that, mostly just so I can have a few more minutes by myself to think. I’m not sure how to react. I mean, I’m happy that this is working out, but I’m also worried and wary about what the future holds. I never thought that I’d see Kellin again, and I never dreamed that it’d be like this.

As I’m walking out of the restroom, I overhear what sounds like Justin’s voice, sounding angry: “I know it’s probably for the best, but I don’t think I can deal with him being here after what he did to you.”

I can’t help but peer out at the corner, where I see him and Kellin standing together. Justin’s gritting his teeth, looking like he’s seriously trying to stop himself from punching someone (again). “Just looking at him makes me so fucking angry, Kell,” he continues, pushing his hair out of his face in agitation.

“I know,” Kellin replies. “But he’s our best bet, and I should just get over what happened between us instead of constantly hiding from him. We can be civil with each other.”

“I’m afraid of that, too,” Justin admits. “You two getting close again. If you had feelings for him before, then what if—what if they come back, or what if he, like, exploits them, or—”

“He wouldn’t,” Kellin replies definitively. “Not on purpose, at least.”

Justin still seems jealous and unconvinced, though, and Kellin must be able to see that. “Hey,” he says calmly, lightly pushing Justin against the wall and resting his hands on his boyfriend’s face. “Listen to me, okay? We’re gonna be fine. This won’t change anything. I won’t let him get to me. I have you. I know it’s scary, and you’re allowed to be jealous, but I want you to trust me with him.” Kellin leans forward and kisses him, softly and comfortingly, and that’s when I have to look away. I’ll accept that he kisses Justin’s lips the way he used to kiss mine, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I don’t even have the right to be jealous, so I turn around and make my way back down the hall, suddenly needing a smoke more than anything. I may have given up alcohol for the most part, but I still need those goddamn cigarettes.

I come back into the small recording studio after a few minutes, noting that someone has turned the radio on and that everyone sort of seems to be doing their own thing, taking a little break. I sit back down in the chair, trying (and failing) not to stare at Kellin, who is sitting with Justin on the couch at the other end of the room.

My mind starts to wander to that night in Pittsburgh at the Duquesne Incline, when I told him that he had stars in his eyes. I truly meant it, too—I could see them shining bright, almost twinkling with all the light that they held. Now, though—now I can’t find those stars at all. They must’ve burned out somewhere along the way.

Just as I’m thinking that, an achingly familiar song starts to play, making Kellin and I both stiffen. His starless gaze locks with mine at the opening lines of “Alone Together.”

Almost immediately, he stands up and walks out of the room, but not before making sure to turn the radio off.


	6. We've Got Unfinished Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *thinks abt what happens in this chapter*
> 
> me: :^)))

Jack tells me that I can stay with him in his apartment as long as I don’t fuck anything up. It sort of makes me think about how this whole thing is going to work out—how we’re going to write and record, how long I’m going to be here, how long until I get to go back to San Diego. This is a major change for me, but I think I’m ready for it. More than that, I think I need it.

Then Jack tells us that we should go somewhere and celebrate, so once I’ve got my stuff moved in and the sun is starting to set, we decide to head out.

“Hey,” I say nervously, feeling like I should just shut up and deal with it but not willing to. “Can I—can I drive?”

It’s such a weird question, especially for people I’ve just met. Kellin gives me a hard look from the backseat, because he _knows_. “It’s just—I need to,” I stutter out, feeling my face heat up. “I need to drive.”

Jack stares at me for a few moments before nodding and smiling a little, seeming to realize that it really is more of a  _need_. “Uh, sure. Don’t crash.”

He means it as a joke, but my breath hitches ever-so-lightly, and once again, I lock eyes with Kellin through the rearview mirror. “I won’t. Trust me.”

Jack gives me directions to the bar, which isn’t that far away. “Alright, then,” Gabe says when we get there. “Vic, you wanna be the designated driver for the ride back?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ll be sober.” I can see Kellin raising an eyebrow at me, and for good reason, too. He knew me when alcohol was my only solution, but though it might be tempting, I’ve learned to resist.

Inside the bar, we sit down at a table, and though it should feel nice being welcomed, I can’t shake Kellin’s eyes on me, or Justin’s. It almost feels forced, though Jack and Gabe do seem to have good intentions. I can tell, though, that it’s a lot less comfortable with me here. I feel like I’m violating something.

After barely twenty minutes, I can’t handle the tension anymore and excuse myself to the bathroom. I don’t actually go to the bathroom, though—instead, I end up at the bar. I don’t plan to drink any alcohol; mostly, I just want to sit and collect my thoughts without looking like a weirdo in the restroom.

I can’t be there for more than three minutes when a very familiar blue-haired wonder sits down in the stool next to me with a way-too-casual “Oh, hey, Pretty Tan Guy! Long time no see!”

I turn to face the girl in surprise. “Bree?”

“In the flesh, yes, indeed,” she replies, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow and letting her bright red lips curve into a smile. “Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here, of all places. Aren’t you from California?”

“San Diego, yeah,” I say slowly, unsure of how to react to her being here. I don’t think anyone’s really sure of how to react to her in general.

She whistles lowly. “Wow. Nice. So, what brings you up here, then? Whatcha been up to this past year?”

I bite my lip. “Um, I kind of just joined a local band up here. I, uh, I play the guitar.”

“Ooh,” she says, sounding genuinely interested. “What band? I might’ve heard of ‘em.”

“Uh, Sleeping with Sirens,” I say, realizing after the words leave my mouth that if she knows this band, then she probably knows a particular person who happens to be in it.

Sure enough, this is her initial response: “Oh, yeah, because Kellin’s in it, right?” Then she makes a face. “I would’ve thought that you would’ve been one of their first choices, though, when they first formed. Or that you would’ve been one of the founding members or something like that.”

“Uh, yeah, about that…” I say slowly.

Bree narrows her eyes at me. “How are you and Kellin, anyways? Haven’t spoken to him in a long time, it seems.”

I sigh, rubbing my eyes. “We broke up a while ago.”

Now she’s definitely interested, though her smile has faded. “Holy shit, really? When? How? I—sorry, you don’t have to answer any of that—”

“No, it’s fine, really,” I interrupt. “It was, well, probably about a week after your little scavenger hunt ended.” I bite my lip. “Okay, this is really weird, but I need someone to talk to about this who won’t judge. Do you think you could—?”

She just nods. “Sure. Say whatever you need to say. I’ll listen.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay. So, you know your cousin, Craig, right?”

She groans. “Oh, yeah. Turns out he’s a huge asshole, which I didn’t realize a year ago. But yeah, what about him?”

I snort. “Well, yeah. He’s an asshole. But he’s also, um…my ex-boyfriend.”

Her eyes widen at that as the information sinks in. “Oh my God—holy shit, I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together!” she exclaims, briefly covering her mouth with her hands. “You’re Vic. Vic Fuentes. The one Craig used to talk about. I didn’t realize you were the same person.”

I nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”

From there, I just start talking. I tell her about how badly he fucked me up, how he put me through so much shit that I can now recognize as emotional abuse. I tell her about how I was so hung up on him that when I met Kellin, I started using him to replace what I’d lost, even though I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I tell her about how I broke up with him after I realized that I didn’t love him like I thought I did, how he drove back to Oregon with tears in his eyes and my knife in his heart (or, at least, that’s what it looked like). I tell her about how I fought for my life, struggled to take it back from Craig’s grip along with the alcohol’s. I tell her about this band and staying at Jack’s place, about how much Kellin seems to have changed, how it feels like there’s so much unresolved shit between us that neither of us is willing to address. I tell her about how I think I miss him—at the very least, I feel something towards him. I leave out the bit about Kellin dating Justin, mostly because I don’t want to admit how jealous I am, but other than that, I pretty much tell her everything. And she listens to all of it.

“That’s fucking wild,” she says finally, shaking her head and staring at me in awe. “But it definitely sounds like you and Kellin have some unfinished business to take care of, huh?”

I nod. “Yeah, but I don’t know how to fix it. He acts like he doesn’t want anything to do with me. Because he probably doesn’t.”

Bree laughs a little. “Yeah, but from what I know and what I’ve heard recently, he acts like he doesn’t want anything to do with anybody, really. I’ll bet you guys can figure something out. Even if you don’t, like, get back together or anything, you could at least learn to be friends.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know, Bree. We’re really not on the best of terms.”

“I can fix that,” she says decisively.

Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow at her. “Oh, really? How?”

That familiar mischievous grin makes its way into her lips. “I’ll get back to you on that. You’ll see.”

“Wow. Okay,” I say in mild amazement. “Why do you even care?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m the one who started this whole thing. I’m the one who led to you two being forced on a road trip together. So I’m the one who led to you two getting into a relationship, and I’m the one who led to you two breaking up. I guess I just sort of feel like I have to fix what I broke. Finish what I started.” I think that this is the most serious I’ve ever seen her.

“You don’t have to,” I tell her. “But, y'know, if you’ve got any ideas, hit me with ‘em. I’d love to see what you come up with.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll come up with something.” She flashes me a reassuring smile. I’ve decided that she’s not as bad as she seems.

—

A few hours later, when everyone else (except Kellin) is completely smashed, I drive us all back to Jack’s apartment, where we crash in various rooms and positions. Gabe ends up on the floor of the living room, Justin on the couch, and Jack on the dining room table, of all places. Kellin announces that he’s going to steal Jack’s bed, and then he walks down the hallway and does exactly that (with a half-asleep Justin flipping him off). I follow him, though I fall asleep in the spare bedroom that Jack told me I could use.

I wake up in the middle of the night (or, more accurately, at four in the morning) for no reason other than the fact that my body hates me and likes to wake me up just for the hell of it. I go to the bathroom at the end of the hall, and on my way back, I happen to glance into Kellin’s room (well, Jack’s room, really), which is when I notice slight movement underneath the covers.

I stop in my tracks and peer into the room, and though it’s dark, I think I can see Kellin tossing and turning. My immediate thought is a series of memories—memories of the nights that I’d wake up and find a sight very similar to this, the entire reason that I got him that dreamcatcher so long ago.

Quietly, I tiptoe over to the bed, kneeling down next to it. I can hear Kellin’s tiny whimpers, can see the sweat on his forehead and the way his fists clench and unclench. “Kellin,” I whisper.

He makes another small noise and rolls over, closer to me. “Kellin,” I repeat, slightly louder, shaking him a little bit.

He yelps at my touch, blindly reaching out to smack me, though he’s still asleep. I shake him harder, pushing his hair out of his face. “Kellin, wake up. You’re okay. It’s not real, alright? It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

He jolts awake, gasping and taking short, shallow breaths. “V-Vic?” he stammers, clearly trying to get a grip on his surroundings, and in those first few seconds, I swear I can see the Kellin I once knew.

It doesn’t last, though. “What—what the hell are you doing in here?” he demands, acting as if he wasn’t just having a nightmare.

“I just saw you having some trouble sleeping,” I say quickly. “I had to wake you up.”

He covers his face with his hands. “Go. Get out.”

“What—”

“Get the fuck out, Vic,” he snaps, turning over and burying his face in his pillow. “This doesn’t concern you. So get out.”

I don’t want to leave, but I know that staying will probably only make things worse. So I go.

—

The next couple of days are mostly spent learning some of the songs that the band’s been working on, along with basically just trying to figure out how to work with them. Interactions are still kind of awkward, but I think I’m starting to warm up to them. Some of them, at least.

I’m alone at Jack’s place—he went out to get groceries—when a random folded note shows up at the doorstep. I don’t know how or when it got there, but I recognize both my name and Kellin’s written on it…in very familiar handwriting.

Holy shit.

I call Kellin immediately—he got a new phone number, but Jack said they should all give me their numbers so that we can all contact each other—and tell him to get his ass over here as soon as possible. Though I can tell he’s not too thrilled, sure enough, he shows up ten minutes later. “Okay. I’m here. What’s so important that you needed me to—?”

I shut him up by pulling out the note, and his eyes widen. “This,” I tell him.

“No fucking way.” He sits down on the couch next to me. “Did you open it yet?”

I shake my head. “I was waiting for you.”

“Hmm.” He takes the note from me and opens it up, holding it out so that both of us can read it.

_Surprise! Yep, it’s Bree. I’m back._

_So recently it has come to my attention (via a very reliable source) that you two are in a bit of a rough patch, and I figured, what better way to rekindle your friendship than to go on a road trip (again)?_

_No, I’m not kidding._

_The rules are very similar to what I gave you last year. However, since I don’t have the time to go on my own road trip or go around giving people little individual handwritten notes, we’re going to do it digitally. At each place I tell you to go, you must take either a selfie or video (I will specify which) of yourselves doing what I told you to do. The pictures will be posted publicly to Kellin’s Instagram (I do not care that he hasn’t used it since like February), and the videos (unless you make them less than 15 seconds long and can post those to Instagram as well) will be posted to YouTube in the same fashion as that time when you two sang karaoke in Chicago. I will then give you your next clue in the comments of each._

_Since I haven’t stolen your car or anything else that would convince you to do this, you could very well just decide not to do it. But you have to, because I told you to. Okay, you don’t HAVE to, but I would very much like you to. Really. I feel like it could help you more than you think, and it’ll definitely help more than staring at each other awkwardly across a room and waiting for one of you idiots to say something._

_Should you choose to accept this mission, this is your first clue:_

_Go to Battery Spencer and take a video of yourselves in front of that famous bridge. Post it on YouTube as “Two Dorks Named Kellin and Vic at the Golden Gate Bridge.” Or on Instagram. Whatever.  
Song: Fake Tales of San Francisco - Arctic Monkeys_

We both stare at the note for a long moment before Kellin says, “Well, shit.”

I shake my head, once again in amazement at Bree. She said she could fix our problem, and I guess this is her way of doing it. “Okay,” I say slowly. “It looks like we’re going on a road trip.”


	7. The Torture of Small Talk with Someone You Used to Love

“No.”

I turn to look at him. “No?”

“No,” Kellin repeats, shaking his head as he stares at the note. “I’m not gonna do it.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. Bree  _did_  say that we don’t have to do it, but it sounds like a strangely good idea. “You’re not?”

“No. She can’t make me do anything.” He throws his hands up in frustration. “How did she even know we were in a ‘rough patch’ or whatever?”

I don’t want to tell him that she and I talked (he’d really be pissed then), so I just take the note from him and hold it up, shrugging. “'Via a very reliable source,’ apparently. Vague, as usual.”

Kellin sighs. “Whatever. I don’t give a shit. I’m not doing it.” With that, he stands up and starts walking towards the back hallway.

“Come on,” I call after him. “If we’re gonna be in a band together, we have to at least get along. This could help.”

Kellin just flips me off and storms out of the room, heading into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. I sigh in frustration, staring at the note and reading it over again.  _Well, Bree,_  I think,  _it was worth a shot._

I guess I shouldn’t have expected him to be on board with this whole thing; he can barely stand to be in the same room as me, even when there are other people around, let alone be stuck with me (and just me) on another road trip. The last time we went on a road trip together, we fell in love. Or, at least, we thought we did.

I want to ask if he’s okay, but that’ll probably just piss him off even more, so I decide that my best bet is to just leave him alone. After a few more minutes, I hear the bathroom door unlock, which is followed by footsteps and Kellin coming back out, albeit reluctantly. He doesn’t sit down; he just stands there in the middle of the room and stares at me, long and hard. His eyes are cold, and it’s kind of unnerving.

“Bree would never let us get away with not doing it,” he says finally.

I nod slowly. He’s got a point—he said to me at one point the first time around that the main reason he was going along with her instead of calling the police or something was because he knew Bree, and he knew from the beginning that it was less of a “revenge” trip and more of a little game. She’s determined, goal-oriented, and this time, she’s actually trying to help us. In her own special way.

“Could give me some inspiration, too,” Kellin adds, running his fingers through his messy hair. “For songs and shit. Imagine.”

“So does this mean we’re doing it, then?” I ask, just to make sure.

Kellin bites his lip, looking away. “Uh. Yeah. Sure. Whatever. I’ve got money because my parents are still fairly rich. We can use your car.”

—

My stuff is pretty much all packed already, but Kellin has some to do, and the day’s already half over, so we agree to leave the next morning. It’s weird explaining to the band that Kellin and I are pretty much abandoning them for a road trip that neither of us really planned because of a girl that Kellin dated in high school, and we try to give as little detail as possible. I can tell Kellin still isn’t too particularly excited about this, but I know him well enough to know that his reasoning behind agreeing to this is more than just the fact that Bree would have our heads if we didn’t do it. He wants to give this a chance; or, at least, a part of him does, a part strong enough to convince him to go along with it.

Justin in particular seems to be even less thrilled than Kellin. I’d say that’s pretty understandable, though, especially considering the conversation I overheard him have with Kellin on the day that I came back—he said he was afraid that we’d get too close, or that our old feelings for each other would come back, or that I’d try to exploit them. He has every right to be worried about what might happen.

Kellin gives me his address, and I pick him up the next day at around noon. The drive to San Francisco is about six hours, and the worst part about it is how different it is from the way our last road trip started out. Last year, we couldn’t stop talking, but this time around, we barely say one word to each other unless it’s necessary. I want to start a conversation, but I don’t know what to say. What am I supposed to say? Nothing feels right. “I’m sorry” feels too fake and forced, even though I mean it—it just seems like the worst thing to say at a time like this. It’s been over a year, and the damage is done. “I’m sorry” feels selfish, as if I’m looking for forgiveness that I know I’m not going to get. But it also doesn’t feel right to talk about something else, something completely irrelevant, not with the obvious elephant in the room. All my words just get stuck in my throat, and Kellin isn’t too interested in filling up the silence, either. So it’s silent.

When we finally get there after an agonizingly long and awkward drive, we get settled in before heading back out again, Kellin pulling up the directions to Battery Spencer on his phone. The site has, apparently, one of the best views of the Golden Gate Bridge, which we’re supposed to take a short video of ourselves in front of. Doing what, I don’t know. Just standing and talking, I guess.

We stop for fast food for dinner on the way there, and by the time we arrive after quite a bit of driving around, the sun is setting, creating a gorgeous orange glow over the bridge. There are quite a few other people here, but there’s still a lot of room for Kellin and I to hang out and take our little video.

The view itself is breathtaking, and even Kellin, who has been nothing but stoic all day, seems to be captured by the sight. “Holy shit,” he breathes as we stand together, the wind surprisingly cold and whipping around us (good thing we brought jackets).

“Well,” I say after a long moment of just staring, “we’ve got a video to take, don’t we?”

Kellin makes a face, clearly displeased. I don’t think he really wants anything to do with me right now, and I don’t blame him.

“Okay, okay,” he says, taking his phone out and opening up the Instagram app. “This one can be short. One of the little fifteen-second videos.” He switches it to the front camera and stands next to me, getting us both in the shot. “What do we want to say? Anything in particular?” When I just shrug, he says, “Whatever,” and then he presses the red button.

“Life update,” Kellin says into the camera, nudging me. “Here with this dude. Say hi.”

“Hi,” I say. “We’re in San Francisco.”

Kellin takes his finger off of the button, stopping the recording, and switches to the back camera so that he can get the view of the bridge and the skyline. He presses the button again and holds it down for a couple seconds; then he turns around with his back to the bridge and holds his phone out so that the view is on me. I wave awkwardly, and then Kellin turns the phone around so that his face is in the shot of the bridge. “Holla,” he says with a cute little laugh, flashing a smile, and then he stops, the video presumably ending. His expression changes back almost immediately, and I can’t help but wonder how much of that smile was real. I want to believe that it held at least a little bit of truth to it, but that doesn’t seem likely.

Kellin turns back to me and types in a caption for the video, tagging both Bree and I in it: _Road trip diaries pt 1, feat. @vicfuentes. Hello San Fran._

“Road trip diaries,” I comment. “I like it.”

“Hm,” Kellin says in response as he posts the video and then switches to a different app—his phone’s camera. “I’m gonna be a tourist,” he says as he switches it to the back camera and rotates his phone so that the screen is longer horizontally. “Care to join me?”

“Uh, sure,” I say, taking my phone out and doing the same thing. “Wish I’d brought a better camera with me, though.”

Kellin nods and doesn’t say anything, focusing more on getting decent pictures. “The sun’s setting,” he says. “If you want, we could stay here until it gets dark, take some good pictures of, like, the lights and stuff.” He bites his lip—he’s been doing that a lot lately, it seems. “I know you really like the lights,” he adds quietly.

It’s true—I  _do_  love the view of city lights in the evening. I can remember us in places like the strip in Vegas and the Duquesne Incline in Pittsburgh, how they both captivated me, how Kellin made it even better. He must’ve picked up on all of that. Of course he did.

When we’re both satisfied with the pictures that we’ve taken, he and I sit down in the grass, just staring out at the water. Once again, I want to say something, but words fail me. So I just stare.

Next to me, Kellin has his legs pulled up to his chest and is wrapping his arms around them. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen up here, right?” he says, sounding like he’s trying to keep his cool. “We can’t fall or anything as long as we stay up here.”

“Right,” I assure him, which is when I remember that Kellin is afraid of heights. He’s been hiding it pretty well, but now I can’t believe I forgot.

Kellin nods, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced. “God, I need a smoke,” he says, sighing and pulling a pack out of his pocket, along with his lighter. “You want one?”

“Yeah.” That’s the one thing that we’ve been able to bond over. Unfortunately. I wish it were something else, something less self-destructive.

He and I smoke in silence, watching as the sun goes down and the sky changes colors before our eyes. The silence is a bit less awkward this time, though, probably because of the change of scenery. It really is beautiful, and I can’t help but want to thank Bree for doing this. Her road trips might be wild, but last time I made memories I know I’ll never forget, and I’m getting the feeling that this will be the same way.

“Vic.”

Kellin’s voice startles me a little, mostly because I didn’t expect him to talk. But sure enough, he’s looking at me, and he’s talking.

“What?” I say, wondering what he could have to tell me.

He sighs. “I don’t hate you.”

It’s such a simple phrase, but something about it really strikes me, and I almost have to take a moment just to let it sink in. “You—you don’t?”

Kellin shakes his head. “And I’m not mad at you.”

That one shocks me even more. “You’re not?” He sure has been acting like it.

“No,” he says softly, his gaze shifting to the ground as his fingers play with the blades of grass next to him. “I’m just—I don’t know how to react to you. I don’t know how to act around you. I’m just…a little fucked up right now, okay? I’m not the Kellin you once knew. And I wish I was. I’m sure I’d be happier.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt without thinking it through, wincing as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I didn’t want to say it, and now I’ve just gone and said it.

Kellin just stares at me for a long moment. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if maybe I heard wrong. “It’s not?”

Now he smiles faintly, almost as if he’s amused. “No. It hurt, obviously, but you didn’t make me like this, not really.”

I’m kind of starting to think that maybe he’s just lying so I don’t feel bad, but something tells me he’s sincere. That begs the question, though: if I didn’t, then what did?

I don’t ask him that, though. It’s far too personal, far too soon.

We don’t say much after that, just watching as the city and the sky transform in front of us, the darkness enveloping the world while the lights illuminate it. Kellin and I both stand back up and take some more pictures, and I just look at it for the longest time, letting the image burn itself into my mind so that I can never forget it.

“It’s fucking incredible,” I breathe, just because I have to verbalize what I’m feeling about what I’m seeing.

“Yeah,” Kellin replies, his gaze fixed on the bridge and the skyline. “It is.”


	8. As You Lose the Argument in a Cable Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello i haven’t updated this in forever bc i suck sorry. yes this fic will actually be finished. hopefully i can get on the ball again (i’ve got some more things planned to be posted soon) also i lov everyone who is reading this goodbye

_Rebel against gender norms. Go get a hand job. Classic M-P. Take a selfie of your result._

This is the comment that Bree leaves on Kellin’s video shortly after we get back to our hotel from Battery Spencer. It’s definitely one of the weirder clues that she’s given us, but it’s not something that we can’t decipher. We’ve got Google on our side.

“Do you really think we’re gonna be able to Google this one?” Kellin asks as we’re sitting down together on one of the beds, staring at his phone as if the answer is just going to come to us if we wait long enough.

“Sure,” I say, pulling out my own phone and opening the Google app. “Hand jobs in San Francisco. We’ll find something. It shouldn’t be hard.”

“Hard,” Kellin mutters, and I snort. He looks at me with what might be an inkling of a smile on his lips.

When I type in the phrase “hand job san francisco,” a result comes up immediately, and I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“Hand Job Nails and Spa,” Kellin reads over my shoulder. After a short pause, he adds, “Well, the ‘rebel against gender norms’ thing makes sense now. ‘Classic M-P’ probably means a mani-pedi.”

“What I wanna know is why anyone would call a place Hand Job,” I say. Honestly, this seems exactly like something Bree would do. When it comes to her, nothing is too surprising.

Kellin shrugs. “People love dirty puns.” He stands up and stretches a little. “We’ll do that tomorrow morning, then?”

“Yep,” I say, falling back into the bed and letting my head hit the pillow. It isn’t even that late, but I’m tired.

“Cool,” he replies. “I think I’m gonna, um, watch TV or something for a little bit. Maybe text Justin. I don’t know.”

I roll over on my side so that my back is facing away from him. “Suit yourself.”

At that point, though, I remember something that Kellin used to do all the time on our last road trip, and I can’t help but ask: “What about Matty? Are you gonna text him, too?”

Kellin is silent for a painfully long moment before he says, “He and I don’t really, um…we don’t talk anymore.”

Almost immediately, I turn back around to look at him, propping myself up on my elbow. “You don’t? Why not?” I realize after asking that, once again, that’s probably too personal, but I can’t help myself. I can’t imagine a world where Kellin and Matty aren’t best friends. Of all the things that changed in the past year, I never expected this to be one of them. I thought this would be the one aspect of Kellin’s life to stay the same.

“We just don’t,” Kellin says dismissively, sitting down on the other bed and shrugging. “We just grew apart.”

I want to ask him more, but it’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I just lie back down and close my eyes, wondering what the hell we’ve just gotten ourselves into.

—

The next morning, as I’m lying half-awake in bed, something grabs my attention from the corner of my eye as my gaze drifts lazily across the room. The familiar-looking object is hanging just above Kellin’s bed, and after a few bleary moments, it dawns on me: the dreamcatcher. He must have brought it with him.

The sheets of his bed are messy but empty, and a couple minutes later, the door to the bathroom opens. A shirtless, wet-haired Kellin with a white towel wrapped around his waist steps out, and in my sleep-clouded daze, I find myself staring. His body doesn’t look much different, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen him like this.

If the rest of this trip is any way like it’s been going, I think the nostalgia is going to kill me.

Kellin glances over at me, biting his lip. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” I say tiredly, rubbing my eyes.

“Looking at me.” He turns around and starts digging around in his suitcase for clothes.

I avert my gaze, purposely focusing on anything but him. I settle on the dreamcatcher again. “You brought that with you,” I comment.

“Brought what? Oh. Yeah.” He sighs. “It, um, helps. Kind of.”

“Does it?” I ask.

“It makes me feel better when it’s there,” he admits, and then abruptly changes the subject. “So. Mani-pedis today, huh?”

The air of the place is quiet and relaxing. It’s pretty nice, I’ll admit, though I haven’t been to many “nails and spa” places in my life, so I probably don’t have the best judgment. I do feel kind of out of place, but Kellin looks around with surprising approval. “This could be fun,” he states. He raises an eyebrow at me, and even though he’s not openly smiling, I can almost hear it in his voice. “What color do you think you’re gonna paint your nails?”

I just laugh a little. “Um. Red, maybe? I haven’t thought about it.”

“Hmm. Flashy,” he says, nodding. “I might go with blue. Not sure yet. Whatever it is, it’ll look better than yours.”

I laugh again. “Rude.”

Kellin just flashes a small smile at me, and for this short moment, it almost feels like old times.

If the workers are surprised at the sight of a couple of twenty-two-year-old guys getting a mani-pedi (Bree’s got a point about the “gender norms” thing), they don’t show it. They take us in almost immediately and even offer us tea, water, or champagne. Kellin goes for the champagne, which I decline in favor of water. We both give each other weird looks at each other’s choice—me because it feels too early to be drinking alcohol at all (even if I wasn’t trying to abstain from it), and him probably because, well, he’s used to seeing me drink alcohol.

“Four months sober,” I tell him quietly.

His eyes widen a little as we’re seated next to each other. “Holy shit,” he says to me, sounding genuinely happy. “That’s great!”

I just smile at him, unsure how to take his reaction. I’m not used to people celebrating it. Obviously the guys were all proud of me, but they’ve seen my struggle in the past year, and it’s not a new thing. It’s been a while since I’ve had to tell someone just how long I’ve been sober.

The experience itself really isn’t bad, and at some point, I can’t help but wonder why dudes don’t do this more often (before I remember that it’s because most dudes feel the need to protect their masculinity). The staff is friendly and makes pleasant conversation with us, and even though six months ago I never would’ve imagined myself getting a mani-pedi with Kellin in San Francisco, the whole situation feels strangely normal. These feelings are feelings that I could get used to, but I know that our relationship is still rocky, far from what it used to be.

I think about that sometimes—what it used to be. What  _did_  it use to be, anyway? We only knew each other for a month, and the whole time, I was using him without even knowing it. I don’t want that. The last thing I want to do is use him like I did, hurt him like I did.

I don’t want what we used to be. I want something better.

Kellin and I are surprisingly civil with each other, much better than we were yesterday—much better than we’ve been for the past week, actually. We talk casually about little things that don’t really matter, even cracking jokes and smiling at each other. It’s almost surreal.

When the mani-pedi is finished and we’re standing outside the place on the sidewalk, Kellin pulls his phone out and unlocks it. “Selfie time,” he proclaims, turning the camera toward us and holding up his painted nails (he settled on a light pink “because fuck gender roles,” while mine are yellow because he said it’d look good on me—and it does). “Fucking art right here, dude,” he says, both of us doing stereotypical peace signs as he snaps the picture and then starts going through filters. This time, his caption reads:  _Road trip diaries pt 2. I told @vicfuentes that mine would look better than his and I was right._

“Hey!” I say, acting offended. “You told me to get this color! You said it’d look good on me!”

“And it does,” Kellin replies as he posts the picture and puts his phone away. “But mine still looks better.”

I roll my eyes teasingly, seriously examining my nails. I can’t help but feel weirdly self-conscious. “How long does this stuff stay on?”

Kellin shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t usually wear nail polish. If someone’s rude to you, just punch them.”

I do a sort of half-laugh, looking at him for a long moment. “You know,” I say slowly, “do you think we could learn to work with each other?”

Kellin nods slowly; there’s still hesitance in his eyes, but he seems more comfortable around me than he’s been. “I think we could probably work something out if we try to just be friends again.”

“Okay, then.” I hold my hand out. “Friends?”

He looks down and stares at it for a few seconds before finally shaking it, looking back up and making eye contact with me. “Friends.”

—

Having lunch together is quiet but, again, mostly civil. We don’t have as much of a conversation as we did back at the nail place, but we still try to make general small talk, even though neither of us seem to be particularly good at it. It’s clear that we still have a long way to go before we can safely say that we’re friends and only friends with nothing in between us, but it feels more possible than it did yesterday. That’s something.

_Give me a little tour of Fisherman’s Wharf. Talk about at least three different places. Post it as “Fisherman’s Wharf with Kellin and Vic.”_

That’s the next thing Bree tells us, and Kellin lets out a low whistle when he reads it off as we’re hanging out back in our hotel room. “Things are getting more complicated,” he comments.

“Fun, fun,” I say, not looking up from my phone as I casually text Jaime. “We can go later today, then, maybe eat dinner there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kellin agrees, and that’s that.

The remainder of the afternoon is spent with us just staying at the hotel for a couple hours, me watching some random movie on the TV that I don’t even know the name of and Kellin sleeping for a little bit, claiming that he’s just resting up, preparing to stay up a bit later tonight. I know that it might have something to do with his sleep schedule, though. Considering that last night he fell asleep after me and woke up before me—and I don’t sleep that much anyway—I wouldn’t be too surprised if he didn’t get much sleep and is trying to make up for it now. I don’t ask, though. It’s not like he’s going to admit to any sort of weakness.

Fisherman’s Wharf is a bustling area of San Francisco, and neither of us really know where to start. I’ve been here once before when I was younger, so I have some sort of idea of what we can find and where we can go, but the place is so large with so much to do and see. Kellin uses a map on the internet (“Because it’s better than your shit memory,” he says) to decide what sort of route looks best.

“We’re gonna be the weirdo tourist vloggers,” he sighs once we start walking down the street with some sense of direction. “Thanks, Bree.”

I just laugh a little, not too worried about how strangers are going to perceive me. I know Kellin is, though; he’s always been. “I can do most of the talking, if you want,” I offer.

I can see a hint of relief in his features as he nods, handing his phone over to me. “Thanks.”

I open up the phone’s camera and switch it to video, turning it sideways so that there’s a better view of us both and the street. Pressing the button to record, I start talking: “Hi, this is Vic. I’m with my friend Kellin, and we’re here at, uh, Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco…”

It’s weird having to narrate this whole thing, but I try to just go with the flow as we make our way around, describing different places in as much detail as possible. Kellin is mostly awkward and quiet, often biting his lip or playing with his hair as he glances around at the people who might be looking our way. I’m not sure if he’s glad that I’m here to take over or if I’m just making things even more stressful for him.

We end our “tour” video outside of a seafood restaurant that we’ve decided to eat at for dinner, both of us doing little waves at the camera before I end the recording and hand the phone back to Kellin, who sighs and immediately relaxes once the camera is off. “Well,” he says curtly, “this’ll be uploaded to YouTube, then, I guess.”

I want to say something that might comfort him in some way, but my mind is coming up blank, and besides, I doubt he wants my sympathy. So instead, I switch the subject: “I heard this place’s clam chowder is good.”

Kellin just nods, trying out a smile. It’s the most positive body language he’s given me all evening.

—

We stay out fairly late checking out different places, and then when we’re ready to go back, we decide to take a ride on one of the cable cars on the ground. As we’re sitting in the seats and watching the streets of San Fran go by, Kellin answers a text from Justin, and that’s when his emotions seem to go from awkward but kind of friendly to stressed and angry in only a matter of minutes.

I don’t know what he and his boyfriend are talking about, but judging by the way Kellin’s fingers fly as he’s typing, the way he stares at the screen while he’s waiting for a reply, the way he bites his lip and runs his fingers through his hair as his facial expression changes, something is telling me that the conversation isn’t going too well.

Finally, Kellin’s phone buzzes, Justin’s name popping up, as if suddenly the things that they’re saying to each other are things that need to be spoken out loud instead of typed out. Kellin gives the phone a sort of death stare before pressing the “Decline” button, groaning audibly before shoving it in his pocket and folding his arms across his chest in an open demonstration of frustration.

I can’t help myself—without thinking, I lean over and whisper to him, “What happened?”

Kellin looks at me as if he’s been shot, recoiling from my body almost immediately. “Nothing,” he says quickly. “It’s none of your business.”

“Are you sure?” I press, though there’s a loud voice in my head telling me to shut my mouth before I piss him off even more. “Did you have an argument or something?”

“I said, it’s none of your business!” he snaps, his voice a bit louder now. The cable car is slightly quieter for a few moments as people turn to look at us, and Kellin sighs again, his face showing no hint of embarrassment (even though we both know that it’s there) as he continues to glare at me.

Luckily for him, that’s the moment when the car stops. When the doors open, he’s the first one out, and I chase after him, both of us rushing down the street and pushing past other tourists. “Kellin,” I call. “Kellin, I—”

“Fuck off,” Kellin calls back, though he slows down a little.

I manage to catch up to him then, lightly gripping his shoulder to help me match his pace. “Listen,” I begin, “I’m—”

“I don’t care,” Kellin interrupts dismissively, yanking his shoulder away from me. “Let’s just get back to our hotel.”

The civility and even friendliness that he expressed earlier has disappeared now, and I don’t try to bring it back. He’s a fire, and if I try to touch him, I’m only going to get burned. So I say nothing, letting him simmer.

We’re only in our hotel room for a few minutes when I get an unexpected text from Tony:  _Hey, real quick, I want to talk to you about Mike._

My heart sinks at the thought of what Tony could possibly be coming to me about in regards to my brother. If it’s a relationship problem, I’m not sure how much use I’ll be when every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended horribly in some way or another. If it’s about something else, something bad that Mike’s been doing…I don’t want to think about what Mike could possibly be doing.

 _Ok sure. What’s going on?_  I reply, trying to keep myself calm.

Tony’s response takes longer.  _I don’t want to go into too much detail but I think he’s starting to go down a bad road. He drinks and goes out a lot more than he used to, with or without me, and sometimes he comes home really late drunk off his ass. Also at some point he took up smoking, I don’t know how or why but for a while he must’ve been keeping it a secret from me. And because of this his mood is a little different. I’m just kind of worried about him and I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal but now it’s a concern and I thought I’d talk to you about it since you know him the best._

I try not to show any signs of distress—not that Kellin would care if he noticed; he doesn’t really want anything to do with me—as the words sink in. When we were teenagers, I was always afraid that something like this would happen to him.

_Try communicating with him and see what happens. That’s what I’ve always tried to do and he usually listens to me when it comes to these types of things. He’s rebellious and stubborn though, as I’m sure you know. But you have to keep an eye on him. He’ll be pissed but it’s for the best. I wish I could say I’m surprised but I’m going to tell you right now that I’m really not. He always seemed to be prone to something like this when we were younger, but in the past few years he’s seemed happier, so it kind of slipped my mind._

Typing those words calms me down a little bit, but I can’t ignore the terror and intense emotions that run through my veins at the thought of something bad happening in my already fucked up life. I just want my brother and friend to be happy. I don’t want them to have to go through something like this. They don’t deserve it.

When it gets late, Kellin and I get ready for bed and turn off the lights, but neither of us sleep immediately. I’m kept up mostly by thoughts of Mike, and I’m going to guess that Kellin is kept up by thoughts of Justin. Whatever it is, it’s what leads to the two of us occasionally glancing over at each other in our separate hotel beds, as if we’re both waiting for the other to fall asleep. It isn’t happening.

Eventually, I pull my phone out and go into my music, about to put my headphones in and listen to a playlist I put together for times like this. That’s when I glance over at Kellin once again, thinking about how he probably needs sleep more than I do (or maybe I just still care for him a lot and really want him to be able to get a good night’s sleep).

Just like earlier, I don’t think before I speak, my voice sounding wispy and kind of strange as it breaks the silence: “I listen to music sometimes.”

Kellin looks over at me, narrowing his eyes. “What?”

I hold my phone out to him, showing him a playlist of soft acoustic or piano songs that I sometimes use to help me get to sleep. “I made a playlist,” I say softly. “If you want to listen to it. If you think it might help.”

Kellin stares at me for a long moment, his face unreadable, before he reluctantly takes my phone out of my hand and puts my headphones in his ears. “I…thank you.”

I don’t know what possessed me to do that, but somehow, it makes me feel a bit better, even though I’m still not much closer to sleep. About twenty minutes later, though, I glance over at Kellin once again and find that his breathing is slow and his eyes are closed; it’s a light, fragile sort of sleep that I don’t dare to disturb, but it’s sleep nonetheless.


	9. I Don't Like Your Boyfriend

_Do some perching. Admire the city. Take a series of three selfies: one with the view in the background, one at the bar, and one with food. French it up.  
_ _Song: Los Angeles Is Burning - Bad Religion_

This is the next clue that Bree has left for us, and it’s the reason we leave in the morning for Los Angeles. Kellin doesn’t talk much, but I wouldn’t expect anything else, especially after last night. He packs his things quickly and silently, all while brooding, something he’s been doing quite a lot lately. I’m ready to blame myself for that, but he explicitly told me that I’m not the reason he’s like this. I’m still not one hundred percent certain that he didn’t just say that to make me feel better, but I guess the least I can do is trust him.

We figure out, through a bit of deduction and my fairly accurate knowledge and experience of LA, that the phrase “do some perching” references a rooftop lounge called the Perch, which overlooks the city. The rest of the directions are pretty self-explanatory, so once we have a plan, we fall into silence, Kellin mainly texting and scowling out the window as if the world owes him something, as if it’s betrayed him somehow. I turn the radio up loud to drown out the awkwardness, focusing on the road and trying to act as if he’s not even there. It really doesn’t work that well.

“Shit,” he mutters at one point, staring at his phone in disbelief, his lower lip jutting out in an almost offended-looking pout.

“What?” I ask before I can stop myself, once again. I can never seem to censor myself. Even back when Kellin and I first met, I could never keep things hidden. If I want to say something, I say it, even when it’s in my best interest to shut my mouth.

“He’s still pissed at me,” Kellin says curtly after a short hesitation, referring to Justin. “Won’t answer any of my messages.”

I bite my tongue to keep from asking anything else, turning my attention back to driving. None of the words I might be able to come up with would do any good.

A few minutes later, Kellin turns the radio up even louder so that we can’t hear each other that well (not that we’re talking), and then I notice him holding his phone up to his ear. Calling Justin, I assume. Of course, it’ll be more difficult for them to hear each other with the radio blaring (if Justin even picks up), but I think Kellin wants to make it so that I can’t listen in, even if it only ends up as a false sense of security.

It takes a few long moments, but sure enough, next to me I hear Kellin, soft and grim: “I didn’t think you’d pick up, Jus.”

I try to tune their conversation out, but I can’t prevent myself from hearing bits and pieces on Kellin’s side. “Look, I’m sorry,” he’s saying. “I should’ve listened.” He almost sounds like he’s being forced to say it.

That’s pretty much the gist of it: Kellin apologizes to Justin for whatever it is that they were fighting about, taking the blame even if it wasn’t his fault. For all I know, it definitely could’ve been, but I’m getting the feeling that this isn’t too uncommon; he sounds tired, as if he’s said sorry more times than he can count.

Soon after, he hangs up, sighing and pushing his messy, unbrushed hair out of his face. He turns the radio back down a little bit and retreats once again into silence, but even though his feud with Justin seems to be fixed, I can still see how bitter and stressed he is.

“You okay?” I ask casually, hoping that it’s a broad enough question that it won’t piss him off or sound like I’m trying to pry. As usual, I’m wrong.

“Fuck off,” Kellin snaps, any remnants of tenderness from last night flying out the window with the heated words that he spits out. “How many times do I have to say it? It’s none of your fucking business. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

I shut my mouth and don’t respond. I knew all of this already, but of course I just needed to ask if he was okay. I should’ve guessed that he wasn’t.

The rest of the six-hour drive is spent in another awkward silence, this one punctuated by venom and frustration. Kellin returns to scowling, and I return to driving. It’s better if we keep it that way.

—

After checking into a fairly cheap hotel, Kellin and I head over to Perch, France-inspired and ambient. Bree’s instructions said to take one of our three selfies with the view in the background, so I ask for us to be seated on one of the outside patios. When we step outside and are led to the table, Kellin moves slightly closer to me, careful not to look around too much and keep his eyes on either the ground or the table. I doubt sitting fifteen floors high and looking right over the city is ideal to someone with a fear of heights.

I open my mouth to offer some sort of comfort before remembering Kellin’s words from earlier. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I highly doubt that he wants me to draw any more attention to the situation; he seems determined not to show weakness.

After our orders are taken, I raise an eyebrow at him, unsure how to go about this. “So…selfie time?”

Kellin looks at me like he wants to be mad at me, but I think I can see a hint of affection, fondness, as he nods, pulls his phone out, and says, “Sure. I want to get the ‘view’ portion over with anyway.”

I stand up and slide over to his side of the table (he decided to sit with his back to the edge so that he doesn’t have to look out at the city as much), sticking my tongue out for the picture, which features the Los Angeles skyline behind us. Kellin kind of laughs at me, a sort of nervous laugh, as he posts the picture.  _Road trip diaries pt 3, Perch selfies pt 1. Great but terrifying view w/ @vicfuentes._

“I don’t know if Bree is making these things height-themed on purpose or if there’s just a lot of height-related attractions,” he says as I hop back into my own seat, “but I don’t think I like it.” He nervous-laughs again.

“It’ll be fine,” I assure him. “There’s a barrier and everything. As long as you don’t intentionally try to fall, you shouldn’t fall.”

Kellin makes a noncommittal noise. I think it’s supposed to mean that he’s listening to me but doesn’t really believe me.

Things are almost fine, then—almost. That’s when, in the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of someone I never thought I’d see again.

“What the hell,” I blurt, my head snapping to the side, not even trying to be subtle. I’m tempted to pinch myself to make sure I didn’t just imagine it, but Craig seems very, very real.

“What?” Kellin asks, looking around in an attempt to figure out what’s left me in such a panic.

I wave my hand at him, dismissive. “Fuck. Just forget it. I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, I shoot up from my seat and rush inside, searching for the nearest bathroom so that I can find my bearings. Suddenly I feel warm all over, and I make my way over to one of the sinks to splash water on my face.

I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it. I should’ve known he’d never let me escape him, even after all this time. What the hell is he even doing here? Is it purely a coincidence—he does live in SoCal, after all, last I checked—or does he know I’m here?

Before I can even complete my next thought, I’m pulling my phone out and text-messaging Bree through Instagram with shaking hands. She acts as if she hasn’t spoken to him in a while, but who really knows with her?

It takes me longer than it should to type out a simple message with all the typos that I make, adding my phone number onto the end of it.  _Hey call me plz I need to talk and I can’t text that well_

A few seconds later, sure enough, my phone rings, and when I answer it, I’m greeted by Bree’s voice. “Hello?” she says, sounding calm but somewhat confused.

“Bree. Hi. It’s Vic,” I say quickly. “Could you explain to me what the fuck your asshole cousin is doing here at the Perch?”

“My— _what_?” Bree says, and now she sounds really confused. “Craig? He’s there?”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah. I saw him while I was sitting outside with Kellin. He was alone. I don’t know if he saw me or not. I kind of bolted as soon as I realized he was there. I’m in the bathroom right now.”

The people in the bathroom are giving me strange looks, but nobody objects. It’s Los Angeles; they’ve probably seen much stranger things.

Bree takes a moment (to let this sink in, I guess), and then she says, “If you seriously think I sent him for you or something, you’ve got your ideas of me all fucked up. You practically spilled your heart out to me telling me how badly he treated you. You have to believe that I wouldn’t put you through that. I’m not that awful, and I know Kellin and I aren’t really best friends or anything, but if you asked him, he’d tell you the same thing.”

I nod, though she can’t see it. Maybe it’s just me always wanting to believe the best in people, but she sounds genuine to me. “Okay,” I say slowly. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence. He just wanted to go out for a night in LA, and we happened to be passing by.”

“I really hope that’s what it is,” Bree agrees. “For your sake. But I can try to look into it, maybe call him and ask what he’s been up to lately. And if you see him again somewhere else on your trip, or if you have any more trouble with him, please do let me know.”

With that, we end the call, and only a few seconds later, as I’m putting my phone back in my pocket, Kellin walks in, looking bewildered. “Vic?”

I sigh and sort of wave at him, brushing my hair out of my face. “Um. Yeah. Hi. Did you see…?”

Kellin nods grimly, seeming to understand why I freaked out. “Asshole ex-boyfriend is back at it again. Do you know why he’s here, or…?”

I shake my head. “I think it’s just a coincidence, since he lives fairly close anyway. Bree says she didn’t have anything to do with it. She thinks he’s an asshole now, and she said she’d look into it.”

Kellin nods again, sighing. “I really fucking hate that guy. Should I fight him for you?”

I laugh a little. “One, he’d totally win. Two, no thanks, but that’s very sweet of you.”

Kellin shrugs. “I’m a very sweet person,” he says in a sarcastic, deadpan tone of voice, one that implies that he’s very aware of how  _not_  sweet he’s been.

I just laugh again. “Let’s just go back out there, take our other two selfies, get this over with and get out of here.”

Kellin flashes me a small but real smile. “Sounds like a plan.”


	10. I'll Take You There

When we get back to our table, our food hasn’t arrived and probably won’t for a little while yet, so we decide to quickly head over to the bar to take a selfie and get our second one over with. I’m still fairly shaken from my brief encounter with Craig, and Kellin certainly isn’t in the best mood, either, but we’ve reached an agreement that the sooner we finish this mission, the better.

“He’s not at his table anymore,” Kellin whispers to me on our way over to the bar, referring to Craig. “Maybe he left.”

I sigh, running stressed fingers through my hair and leaning up against the bar. “God, I hope so. Just seeing him gets me all fucked up. Gives me major creeps.”

Kellin positions himself across from me, seeming to measure me, analyze me. “You don’t want anything to do with him,” he says slowly, “right?”

“No shit,” I reply, biting my lip. I can see why this would shock him a bit, though; I left him for Craig. Or, rather, I left him because Craig had me wrapped too tightly around his abusive fingers.

“I’m afraid of him,” I admit without thinking it through. “I’m afraid of the power he had over me. I don’t want to go back to being weak and used, and I’m afraid that if I stay around him too long, somehow he’ll reel me back in.”

“And you don’t want that,” Kellin finishes, lightly raising an eyebrow at me.

I shake my head, forcing the old memories to stay locked away in a dark corner of my brain. I can’t afford to have them resurface. “Hell no. That’s the last thing I want. I was miserable in that relationship. Even after I left you.”

After a short pause, Kellin says, sounding a lot wiser than anybody gives him credit for, “Well, I mean, here’s why: you didn’t leave me because you were looking for something better. You left me because you wanted  _me_  to have something better. And you didn’t think you could give that to me in the situation you were in.”

He says it so simply but so eloquently, and I find myself, as I often do, in awe of him. It’s strange how almost understanding he seems. Maybe he really was serious when he said he wasn’t mad at me over our breakup. Even so, though, he still hasn’t been particularly sweet to me (not that I expect him to be). Whether he’s mad at me over all that or not, it’s clear that our relationship isn’t completely smooth yet; in fact, it’s far from it. But we might be getting somewhere.

Kellin clears his throat then, when neither or us say anything else on the subject. “So. While we’re standing here when we probably aren’t supposed to be. Selfie?”

I nod, casually waving my hand as he pulls his phone out. “Yeah, yeah, we better do that.”

It’s just about as awkward as the last one, but we pretend like we’re having a blast together, Kellin tagging me in the picture and adding a standard caption:  _Road trip diaries pt 3, Perch selfies pt 2. At the bar. Very NOT drunk._

I take a quick glance around at the bar—not really looking for anything in particular, really; just a casual glance—when I see Craig again, and my heart does the same fearful jump in my chest that it does every time I see him, my body tensing up automatically. He’s hanging out right at the bar, a few stools down, chatting amiably with the bartender with that confident smirk that sends chills down my spine. It plays out like a train wreck: I want so badly to look away from him, can’t bear the sight of him, but my gaze is helplessly stuck on him.

“What— _shit_ ,” Kellin says, immediately catching on to my sudden change in demeanor and the direction that I’m staring. Without warning, he takes me by the hand and leads me away from the bar area, quickly pulling me back outside to our table even though the view scares him. “I’m not sure if he saw us or not,” he tells me as I’m recovering from another Craig sighting. “But our food should be here pretty soon, so we can take our third selfie and eat and get the hell out.”

I just nod, taking deep breaths and focusing on the world around me, the comforting coolness of the evening air, the buzzing lights and sounds of the city below me. The thing that terrifies Kellin is the same thing that calms me and helps to keep me sane. One person’s fear is another person’s medicine.

Sure enough, within a few quiet minutes, our waitress has returned with our food. I breathe a sigh of relief as I head back over to Kellin’s side, standing next to him and forcing another smile as he takes the picture and then tags me in it once again.  _Road trip diaries pt 3, Perch selfies pt 3. This food better be good!!_

“Great,” I say as I sit back down. “Now we can finish up here.”

The food is pretty good, but I barely taste it because of the tightness in my throat, the sick feeling running through my body. Craig doesn’t return to his seat, and we don’t see him at all the rest of the time, but I’m still horribly on edge, and I don’t feel like I can truly breathe until we’re out of the building. Judging by the way Kellin takes a few deep breaths of his own, sighing in relief as his feet hit solid ground again, I think he feels the same way.

“I’m not sure if I like LA so far,” he comments forlornly when we’re back in our hotel, pulling a cigarette out and heading over to the balcony door to smoke it.

I swallow a lump in my throat. “It’s a nice city,” I tell him, reaching over to pull out a cigarette of my own. “But it’s unforgiving. It doesn’t stop for anyone.”

—

_Find a condom in Griffith Park (the place is known for an abundance of gay cruising). Take a selfie with it in front of a Griffith Park sign. Wait for me to comment before you leave. (I suggest you do this around late afternoon/early evening.)_

“That is…extremely unsanitary,” Kellin says the next morning in response to the comment that Bree has left on the final selfie. “We have to find a condom in the park. I assume she means a used one. Then what do we do, carry it to the sign? Hold it up to pose with it? Do  _not_  sign me the fuck up. I do  _not_  volunteer as tribute.”

I sigh, shaking my head. I don’t think either of us are surprised at this point. “I’ll bring a napkin or tissue or some shit,” I say. “To pick it up with.”

Kellin and I stare at each other for a few brief moments—we’re sitting across from each other on our respective beds, Kellin with his phone in his hand so he can read the comment—before we both just snort, our faces breaking into grins of amusement and odd wonder, as if we can’t really believe the situation that we’re in but are completely unfazed at the same time. It’s a very different sort of mood from last night.

“Okay then,” Kellin says, rubbing his hazy, sleepy eyes and still grinning in a funny, lopsided sort of way. In the morning light, he looks softer somehow, more innocent; he reminds me of the Kellin that I knew a year ago. “Let’s go search for a used condom in a nice park.”

I’ve been to Griffith Park before, but there are probably a lot of areas I’ve never been to before since it’s so large, and (kind of surprisingly), I’ve never visited it for the gay cruising thing. I kind of knew about that, but I’ve never been that sort of type to search for some dude to have sex with in an urban park. There are quite a few people who  _are_  that type, though, and Bree seems confident that we’ll find a used condom somewhere.

We start searching near a large sign that reads “GRIFFITH PARK” in big block letters, figuring that we might as well see if we can find one as close to our destination as possible. After no success, though, we both soon realize that if people are going to have sex in a park, they’re probably not going to be doing it in very obvious spots and that we might want to check in places that are farther off the beaten path. (Then again, I’ve also had a lot of experience finding condoms just floating around on the beach for everyone to see, so maybe some people don’t really concern themselves with subtlety.)

About twenty minutes later, then, we’ve gone off into less populated areas, digging through more obscure patches of bushes and trees. Kellin tells me he’s not having too much luck, but I happen to find something where I’m searching farther up ahead, in an area even deeper into the brush. A few more steps in, I notice something fluttering around on the ground, and sure enough, upon closer inspection (without touching…for now), I discover that, yes, this is what we’re looking for. Over my shoulder, I proclaim my victory down to Kellin: “Eureka!”

A couple seconds later, I hear his footsteps getting closer, followed by his distinctive half-laugh. “I should’ve known you’d find one first. You’re always good at these things.”

I shrug, carefully toeing the used condom with my foot. “It wasn’t too hard. This place is huge, and condoms always seem to show up in public areas like this anyway, even the ones that aren’t known for being great places to get laid.” After a reluctant pause, I sigh and pull a tissue out from my pocket, automatically cringing as I pick it up. It’s definitely used, alright.

Kellin laughs—fully this time—and teasingly points at me, reveling in my disgust (he insisted before we got here that I’d be the one to pick it up, and I jokingly called him a pissbaby, and he gave the excuse that he has to hold his phone to take the picture, which means that apparently I  _have_ to be the official condom-holder).

“Shut up,” I tell him pleasantly, trying not to smile. “Let’s just get back over to the sign and take our stupid picture already.”

Luckily, we don’t run into too many people on the way back, so I don’t have to suffer through a bunch of strange looks. As soon as we reach the sign, Kellin takes his phone out and holds it up so that the camera is facing the both of us but still shows part of the sign in the background. I hold up the condom with an exaggerated look of disgust on my face, and Kellin points at it with an equally exaggerated excited expression. Neither of us can help but laugh at the result; the picture is completely ridiculous, and it could probably be used as some sort of internet meme or reaction picture when taken out of context. Which means that it’s exactly what Bree is looking for.

 _Road trip diaries, pt 4,_ Kellin writes.  _@vicfuentes found a used condom in Griffith Park. Pls don’t ask._

I snort. “I wonder how many people are gonna unfollow you.”

Kellin waves his hand nonchalantly. “I don’t even care. All I care about is you finding the nearest trash can and getting that condom out of my face.”

“That makes two of us,” I agree, and it’s only a few seconds later that I realize that that used to be a common phrase of ours. We used to say it to each other all the time.

Kellin stares at me for a fairly long moment, and then he shakes his head. “You know what? Keep the condom. I can’t think serious things about you when you’re holding a fucking used condom that isn’t even yours.”

I make a face, starting to walk away. “Okay, yeah, no. I’m going on a garbage can search now.”

“Garbage can search?” Kellin calls after me. “I’m right here, Vic!”

It takes me a few moments to get the joke, and I glance back over my shoulder, again trying not to smile. “Shut up! You know what I meant!”

Kellin sticks his tongue out at me, that brilliant grin back on his lips. It’s so natural and comfortable. It almost feels like old times.

When I get back from my trash can quest (now used condom-less, thankfully), Kellin is sitting on the ground in front of the sign, looking around with wide eyes. It’s a pretty place, I’ll admit, and even though I’ve been here before, I can’t help but want to walk around some more. “Would you want to come and look at everything with me?” I ask him. It comes out a bit softer than I expected it to.

“Sure,” he says immediately, standing up. “Lead the way. Bree said we have to stay here anyway, so we might as well stop to smell the roses and shit.”

I don’t even think about where I’m going; I just let the wonder that overtakes me pull my body along, desperately trying to take everything in. I can’t help it. These things mesmerize me the same way bright city lights do.

We don’t talk much while we’re walking, but I can see Kellin watching me, staring at me even more than he stares at any of the other sights in the park. “What?” I say at one point as the sun is setting around us. “Why are you looking at me?”

Kellin just shrugs, his expression surprisingly calm. “It just…reminds me of old times,” he says quietly. “You admiring pretty things, and me admiring you admiring pretty things. Like when we were in Vegas. I remember that.”

I remember that, too. I remember that that was a night where I felt happy and free, a feeling that I hadn’t felt in so long. That was a night back at the beginning, the very beginning, the first city. It’s a fond memory, and that’s why it almost hurts to look back on it.

I sit down in the grass near a large patch of flowers, and Kellin sits down next to me, a faint smile on his lips. “So,” he says, switching the topic of conversation to something less serious, “how gross was touching that condom, on a scale of one to ten?”

From there, we revert back to chatting naturally and teasing each other, joking back and forth like it’s nothing. It’s good for a while, but then I slip up while I’m stuck in such a state of bliss that I forget our current situation. “God,” I say in the middle of a laugh, “it feels just like it used to be.”

Kellin looks at me as if I’ve just slapped him, biting his lip and not saying anything for a long moment. Finally, though, he mutters, “It’s not like it used to be.”

“Well,” I say slowly, “yeah, I mean, I know it’s not, but—”

“I have a boyfriend,” he interrupts defensively, almost looking as though he’s trying to remind himself just as much as he’s reminding me. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but we can’t be anything other than friends.”

Deep down, I know that, but the phrase “like it used to be” has given off the wrong idea. That implies crushes, romance, something other than friendship. And we can’t have that.

We’re quiet for a few minutes, and then my curiosity and concern both get the best of me, prompting me to break the silence: “How  _is_  your relationship with Justin going, anyway?”

Kellin’s expression is unreadable, and he seems to take a while to figure out what he wants to say. Before any words have the chance to come out of his mouth, though, a notification appears on his phone, which he sat down in between us for whenever Bree decides to give us our next “clue”—which, as it turns out, happens to be right now.

_Observe the night sky. (You’ll still be at the park for this; that’s why I told you to wait. See? I’m kinda nice, sometimes.) Take a selfie in front of the building and the city. Make the caption super cheesy._

“The observatory,” I say immediately after Kellin reads it out loud to me. There’s no doubt that she’s referring to the Griffith Observatory, which is located on the park grounds. That’s why she told us to come here late in the afternoon or early in the evening.

“Do you know where that is?” Kellin asks. When I nod, he stands up. “Alright, then. Let’s go.”

He’s completely dismissive, very different from the way he was acting towards me only a few minutes ago, and as I stand up and start to lead the way to the observatory, I realize that he has completely avoided my question.


	11. I Miss the Lips That Made Me Fly

The air outside suddenly feels colder as Kellin and I make our way up toward the observatory. I can’t decide if this is because Kellin himself all of a sudden seems colder and more distant or if it’s simply because the night sky is gradually falling on us. Logically, I know that it’s the latter answer, but I can’t help but think that the former probably has something to do with it, too—I didn’t notice the gradually cooling air when I was busy talking and joking with him, but now he has completely shut me out, focused only on finishing our task and getting this whole thing over with. So much for us enjoying our time together.

I can’t wrap my head around him, and even more than that, I can’t stop thinking about him. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that I’m with him twenty-four seven, but it’s still slightly unnerving. It feels like how we were a year ago, in a weird way, because I wish I could figure him out, just like I did back then. It was out of fascination back then, though; now it’s out of desperate need. Plus, back then Kellin showed interest in me consistently (and he was also very single). I haven’t even figured out if my thoughts about him are romantic or if they just appear that way because I’m wishing for how it used to be. To put it simply, it’s all very confusing, and Kellin isn’t really helping that much.

The Griffith Observatory is impressively large, so I turn my attention to that, taking a few moments to admire the view of the actual building, which now has its outside lights turned on to illuminate it in the darkness of the purple-black sky. Even Kellin stops to just sort of stare at it, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is pretty cool,” he says slowly, staring down at his phone with narrowed eyes, “but when Bree says to take a picture ‘in front of the building and the city,’ do you think she means in front of the building with the city in the background, or does she mean to actually go in and take a picture of ourselves looking at the city from the deck or whatever?” He sounds kind of nervous.

Remembering Kellin’s fear of heights, I bite my lip, hating to be the bearer of bad news. “I mean, she did say to ‘observe the night sky,’ didn’t she? Although that might’ve just been to tell us where to go.”

Kellin sighs and makes a face, putting his phone back into his pocket. “Knowing her, I’d assume that she wants us to go inside. I mean, while we’re here, I guess we might as well.”

It’s probably not my place to say anything about his fear, but I find myself trying to sympathize. “It might not be that bad,” I say softly.

Kellin just kind of scowls. “I’ll be fine,” he says dismissively, and then he starts walking toward the observatory.

It’s a pretty cool place, I’ll admit—even someone who isn’t into space could find it interesting, and someone who is into space would have a field day. There are murals on the ceiling and areas with different exhibits, and within five minutes of looking around, Kellin has declared that we’re going to stay awhile and check everything out before we head to the observation deck. I’m not complaining at all; if he hadn’t already suggested it, I know I would’ve.

It’s a bit later in the evening when we eventually tear ourselves away. Kellin, of course, tries to stay in a “safer” area for as long as possible, but he and I both know that it’s time to get what we came here for. Kellin says he doesn’t really care where we go, since there are several decks and terraces all around the building, so we make our way to the elevator that will take us to the deck on the roof. “You’ll be okay, right?” I say to him, still hesitant to do anything because of how he’ll react.

He shrugs as we both step into the elevator. “Yeah. It’ll be fine.” He doesn’t sound fully convinced, but he does sound like he’s trying.

No matter where on the roof we decide to stand, the view is simply incredible. The moon shines bright in the dark sky, and below us, the city is all lit up, thousands of lights stretched out in front of us. As we head closer to the edge, Kellin grips onto my arm as if I’m the only thing that will keep him from falling or blowing away. I grab ahold of his hand, and he squeezes it tightly, shifting his body so that he’s closer to me. The hostility from earlier seems to have faded, if only a little.

“Hey,” he says, pulling his phone out with a hint of a smile. “I thought of a cheesy caption. Since Bree said in her note that the caption had to be cheesy.”

I smile a little, too. “Oh, really? What is it?”

“You’ll see,” Kellin says, turning around so that his back is facing the view. “Now get over here.”

Kellin positions his phone so that the camera catches both our faces, a bit of the city in the background, and the ledge that shows we’re at the observatory. After the picture is taken, Kellin takes a couple steps away from the edge and proudly types out his caption: _“Hey, Vic, wanna know why there are no stars in the sky?” “Why?” “Because they’re all in your eyes.”_

“Aw, you didn’t include the 'road trip diaries’ bit this time,” I tease. “I like that, though. And I think Bree’ll appreciate it.”

“Oh, she definitely will,” Kellin says definitively as he posts the picture and puts his phone back in his pocket. He bites his lip then, his focus returning to the view and the fact that we’re on top of a giant building on top of a slope.

“Are you still okay?” I ask again, because I need to know that he’s okay. “We can go back inside now, if you want.”

Hesitantly taking the few steps back up to the edge and grabbing my hand again, he shakes his head, seeming almost determined, though his eyes are wide and his whole body is tense. “I want to stay,” he says softly. “Just a couple more minutes.”

“Of course,” I reply automatically.

We share about ten seconds of mutual silence, both of us just taking in the view, before Kellin speaks again, his voice nervous and shaking a little: “What if something happens and we fall?”

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” I assure him, pulling him slightly closer to me. “Trust me.”

It’s almost torturous, how similar the scene is to back when we were in Pittsburgh. The city lights are shining off of him the same way that they did before, and suddenly I’m struck by how beautiful he looks, how brightly he’s illuminated.

“Oh my God,” I mutter, and then everything else flies out of my brain, my mind choosing the worst possible moment to shut down on me. I don’t even think when I lean toward Kellin and press my lips to his.

For maybe three seconds, it’s bliss, and Kellin almost seems into it, his body leaning forward and his lips parting as if he’s going to kiss me back. Then sense comes crashing back in, both of us recoiling and pulling away from each other, my heart beating fast. Kellin stares at me for a long moment in clear shock and indignation, and then he finally manages a response, sputtering, quite eloquently, “The _fuck_?”

I could’ve said the same thing myself, because I have no idea what I was thinking. “I, um—listen, I didn’t mean—Kellin—” I stutter, but I already know that there’s not much I can say to fix this.

“What was _that_?” he snaps, and just like that, everything has changed again, but this time, it’s because of something much bigger. “How many times do I have to tell you? We aren’t dating. We aren’t lovers. We’re barely even friends at this point. I have a fucking _boyfriend_. Just stop it.” By the last sentence, he almost sounds sad, almost sounds desperate. I don’t read into it.

Kellin turns on his heel and rushes away, heading back inside, and I follow him, trying to explain that I wasn’t thinking, that I never planned for this to happen, that nothing like this will ever happen again. It’s no use, of course, and as we push our way out of the observatory, I just stop trying. It’s a long, silent walk back to the car, and it’s a long, silent drive back to the hotel.

—

I smoke on the balcony, sitting out there for way longer than I should. But I can’t handle being in Kellin’s presence right now, not after something so stupid and horrible. I wait until he falls asleep to come back in, and even then, I feel guilty just at the sight of him.

It’s obvious that I shouldn’t have kissed him, and I’m still trying to figure out why I even did it in the first place. I think it was the memories, the way they skewed my senses and made it seem like it was still as simple as we thought it would be in Pittsburgh. It made kissing him feel natural, like it’s something we do all the time. But this is not sweet puppy love, nor is it the love of a couple that’s been together for years. This is hesitant friendship fraught with tension and a checkered past. This is me missing Kellin, missing what we could’ve had and wanting something better, and Kellin clearly not being into it because—among other things—he has another boyfriend. It’s never been my place to kiss him, from the moment he walked into the studio back in Oregon. It hasn’t been my place to kiss him since I told him to leave.

I don’t sleep well, kept up by thoughts of how this trip will go down. At around two in the morning, though, these incessant worries are interrupted by the sound of restless thrashing in Kellin’s bed.

I know better than to investigate. I know better, and yet, I end up pulling myself up to a sitting position to get a better look. I’m already pretty sure I know what’s happening. It’s happened many times before.

At first it’s just the movements, but then Kellin makes a noise of distress, shaking his head with his eyes squeezed tight. I can’t help myself; I can’t just watch him go through this without even trying to pull him out of it. Climbing out of my bed and standing in front of his, I grab ahold of his shoulder and start shaking him, whispering his name. It’s a heartbreaking sort of routine.

Kellin’s body jolts at my touch. “Don’t touch me,” he whines, still half-asleep and covering his face with his hands.

“Kellin, wake up,” I tell him firmly. “It’s not real. You have to wake up.”

He doesn’t put up as much of a fight as he usually does, though he still struggles. After a few more seconds, his eyes shoot open, and he gasps. His gaze locks with mine before he sighs and turns so that his back is facing me. “Fuck off and leave me alone,” he says harshly (not that I expected anything different). “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Okay,” I say softly, quickly crawling back into my own bed. I know that he’ll just be cold to me if I try to stay any longer, and besides, it’s not like I have anything I could say.

—

_Rise and shine, losers. Go on an early morning balloon ride. Document your experience with a video titled “Kellin and Vic Balloon Ride.” (Aren’t my titles so original?) Also, while you’re at it, make some reservations for the Stables at Tamaya for the day after that. They must be in by 8:00 PM the day prior to the ride.  
Song: Gas to Albuquerque - Andreas Duus Pape_

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Kellin says in response to Bree’s next challenge. We’re leaving fairly early this morning, since it takes about eleven hours to get to Albuquerque from here. “It’s too early to think about any of this. Let’s just go.”

Those are pretty much the only words that he says to me. After his nightmare last night, he got up and went out onto the balcony with a pack of cigarettes. He smoked and stayed out there for at least half an hour, and then I finally fell asleep, so I can’t say when he came back in. But I can say that he still seems like he’s afraid to look at me.

From the moment I hop into the car, I’m prepared for the longest drive of my life, eleven hours of strained silence or even more strained conversation. And for the first hour or two, I’m not too far off the mark: Kellin plays games on his phone or texts or pretends to text, and he does not talk to me, and I do not talk to him. We barely even look at each other except for when we have to, which isn’t very often. At some point, Kellin plugs his headphones into his phone and blasts music, not caring if I can hear it (I can, but I don’t really mind). The air inside the car is thick with everything we’re not saying.

To my surprise, though, after the first couple of hours, Kellin turns his music off, takes out his headphones, and says, “I’m sorry I got so pissed at you.”

I narrow my eyes, hardly able to believe what I’m hearing. “I mean,” I say slowly after a moment of processing his words, “you had a reason to be pissed at me. You have a boyfriend, and I lost it and kissed you without even thinking.”

Kellin shrugs, as if he doesn’t know how to respond—as if he didn’t expect me to validate what he was feeling. “Well, still,” he persists. “I shouldn’t have been so…I don’t know. Vile. I just get pissed pretty easily these days.”

I nod slowly. It’s fairly understandable, and it’s taking everything in me not to tell him that it’s okay, because I think we both know that it’s not, even though me kissing him wasn’t okay, either. It makes me think of Craig and I, because our relationship was built off of apologies. The only difference was that mine were always sincere, while his never were. I remember that he always made me apologize, even when he was the one in the wrong. When he apologized —which was rare unless I threatened to leave him—he always promised he’d never do what he did ever again, and it was always a lie, because he always did the same things to me over and over again.

Before I can think, I find myself saying, “If you don’t mind me asking…what happens when you and Justin fight?”

Kellin just looks at me for a moment, thinking. “Um, we get mad at each other for a while, and usually he tells me why it’s my fault, and at first I don’t listen and tell him why it’s his fault, but then I eventually I realize that he was right and I was being stupid trying to blame him, so I apologize, and then things are good until we find something else to argue about.” He doesn’t sound pleased with the way he’s describing it; in fact, his voice is monotone, as if he doesn’t really care.

“And Justin never apologizes?” I say, trying not to let the inflection of my voice give away how uneasy this is making me feel.

“No,” Kellin says. “But I’m the one who always fucks up. So I’m the one that always needs to apologize.”

That’s what I used to think, too.

“Interesting,” I say slowly, not yet willing to risk making any sort of comment about their relationship. Clearing my throat and changing the subject slightly, I add, “But while we’re talking about apologizing…Kellin, you have to believe me when I say I never meant for that kiss to happen.”

Kellin sighs, biting his lip. “I know,” he says after a pause. “If that was just a one-time thing, then do you think we could maybe just pretend it never happened?” He raises an eyebrow. “I know I’m super unpredictable, but this is gonna be a long trip if we hate each other the whole time. I feel like we should at least try to get along. You didn’t mean for it to happen. I get it. You’ve always been a spontaneous little shit.”

I laugh a little, shaking my head. “This isn’t just your tendency to forgive everyone, is it? I mean, obviously I’d love for you to give me a second chance, but don’t give it to me unless you really mean it.”

“Oh, no, I’m not forgiving you at all,” Kellin says quickly, the hint of a mischievous grin on his lips. “Because it was totally a bad move. But if it’s not going to keep being a problem or anything, then my offer to try to be friends still stands. As long as you remember that my lips are off limits.”

“Your lips are off limits,” I repeat dutifully, trying not to smile (and failing). “Easy-peasy.”

It feels almost surreal, the way we’re interacting. I thought for sure that our whole relationship was ruined and that we didn’t even have a chance at reconciling our friendship. It seems as though I’m always overestimating how much he hates me and always underestimating how willing he can be to come to a compromise. It’s just that I truly do expect him to hate me, and it’s a shock when he continues to prove me otherwise.

After a little bit more double-checking to make sure that we’re okay, we fall into the friendly chatter and teasing that we’re prone to, and it almost makes everything feel so much simpler—almost. But the reality, I’ve realized, is that I’m not sure if treating him as just a friend will be as easy as he claims. Obviously I don’t think I’ll be trying to kiss him again, but my feelings for him are definitely there. He’s telling me that we’ll be fine as long as we pretend that the kiss never happened, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t really want to pretend it never happened. It’s for the best, but I don’t know if I can, not completely. I’m afraid I might be in too deep already.


	12. The Feelings That We Hide

 

The drive is terribly long, but we eventually make it to a hotel in Albuquerque by early evening. Once we’re settled into our room, Kellin books our hot air balloon flight for tomorrow morning, makes reservations for the horse-riding place for the day after tomorrow, and then suggests that we order room service. I’m on board with that—we’re both too worn out to want to do much of anything.

Kellin seems to be doing a decent job of forgetting that our kiss ever happened, but sometimes the memory of it just flashes unexpectedly through my mind, and I’m forced to push it away; I can’t afford to be thinking like that. Still, the surprising lack of tension between us, the strangely friendly way that we interact, brings back memories of before, when we sang “Alone Together” and the city lights felt like they were shining just for us. The parallels are almost undeniable, and I can’t help but wonder if that was Bree’s plan all along.

We spend the evening chilling out, either talking or just doing our own thing. At some point, Kellin starts playing with the TV remote, changing the channel every five minutes. He can’t seem to be able to find anything worth his attention until he stumbles upon something that I don’t recognize.

“Holy shit, we’re totally watching this,” he says definitively, excitedly sitting up and increasing the volume. “Well, you don’t have to, but I am, so don’t complain. And don’t make fun of me.”

I raise an eyebrow, propping my head on my elbow as I’m lying on my bed. “Why would I make fun of you? What even is this?” All I can tell so far is that Gerard Butler is in it, and his character is currently arguing with a woman, who I guess is his partner, probably.

“It’s at the very beginning,” Kellin says, his face heating up a little bit. “It’s, um—God, this is so embarrassing,” he mumbles, trying to hide a smile and covering his face with his hands. “It’s _P.S. I Love You_ , okay? It’s, like, your standard straight white romance drama film, basically, except it’s kind of different because the main love interest dies of a brain tumor within the first twenty minutes.”

With that, he starts talking animatedly, quickly describing the plot of the movie, which involves Gerard Butler’s character dying and his wife receiving letters from him that he’d planned to have delivered to her after his death, each one prompting her to go on an adventure of some sort. “Oh—Lisa Kudrow’s in it, too,” he finishes. “Y'know. Phoebe from _Friends_. So if you weren’t already sold, then you definitely are now.”

I try to pay attention to the movie, but I’m paying more attention to Kellin’s commentary about the movie; the way he eagerly describes everything, the way he cringes at embarrassing scenes and cheers at heartfelt ones. “I love it,” he says near the end with wide-eyed passion, “because it’s a romance, but it’s all sort of about her taking back her life and finding herself, and maybe one day she’ll fall in love again. I mean, we don’t actually really see that part happen, but there’s that hope there.” He shrugs. “I just like it. I don’t know. Like I said, don’t make fun of me. I like a nice, slightly cheesy romance film every once in a while.”

As I’m listening to him and watching him, it strikes me, the deeper reason behind his love of this seemingly random movie: he lost someone, too—his old boyfriend, Jordan, who died of illness a few years ago. He identifies with the grief, the feeling of being lost, the odd and wonderful hope of being able to let go and fall for someone new. Then I can’t help but think, observing the excited and almost childlike glint in his eyes as he talks, that I am catching glimpses of who Kellin used to be—of who Kellin might still be, a little bit, buried beneath the hostility and the pain.

—

We wake up early again and head off to the place where we’ll be taking our sunrise balloon ride, snacking on PopTarts on the way as our breakfast. Kellin is antsy and anxiously talkative, constantly asking me whether or not I think the balloon company is trustworthy or how high up I think we’ll go. I assure him that the company is most likely very trustworthy, considering how popular it seems to be, and I tell him that we’re probably going to be fairly high up in the air but that he won’t fall if I can help it. This doesn’t do much to calm him down (not that I expected it to), but he still smiles nervously and looks like he’s trying.

When we reach the place, the process is kind of a whirlwind. We meet with the workers in their corporate office and check in, and then we’re all driven to one of the launching areas. It feels kind of surreal as we make our way out into the open. It’s definitely a new and different experience, and while I’m excited, I know that Kellin just wants it to be over already. I hold his hand and squeeze it to let him know that he’ll be safe, and he shifts his body closer to me, even though the balloons haven’t even been inflated yet.

Both of us take pictures of the inflation, with Kellin saying at one point, “I’ll admit, it’s kind of calming to see how slow and lazy they are,” referring to the balloons. “Airplanes are big, loud metal beasts. These seem, like…I don’t know. Gentler, or something. Then again, they’re also more open, so that’s really scary.”

“Yeah, but you hear about airplane crashes a lot more often than you hear about hot air balloon crashes,” I reply.

“That’s probably because airplanes are more widely used,” Kellin points out. “You see airplanes all the time. But when you’re outside and you see a hot air balloon in the sky, it’s like, ‘Holy shit! It’s a hot air balloon!’ And it’s this whole big spectacle and you gotta take pictures.”

I laugh a little, shaking my head. “Whatever, dude. This could be fun, though. If anything, you’ll have some cool photos for your Instagram aesthetic.”

Kellin snorts. “Oh, yeah. I can see my caption right now: ‘I nearly died taking these pictures, so you guys better fucking appreciate them.’”

The balloon ride isn’t private, so there are quite a few other people who are loaded into the basket with us once our balloon has completely inflated. The pilot, who is far too peppy for seven in the morning (though I appreciate his hard work and dedication), talks to us a lot and assures us that we’re in for a safe and enjoyable ride above the mountain range. Kellin listens intently, all while breathing deeply, and when it’s time for liftoff, he grabs onto me, his nails kind of digging into my skin (I don’t really mind).

By now, I’ve realized that there is not a scarcity of breathtaking sights on this trip. The sun rising over the mountains gives everything a bright orange glow to it, a sort of early morning serenity like we’re the only people awake right now, like this view is meant only for us. Next to me, Kellin says, “This is the most gorgeously terrifying thing ever.” His eyes are wide and I think he’s shaking a little, but he still risks peering slightly out over the edge to see better. “Oh my God, it’s so high up,” he squeaks, breath hitching.

I grab ahold of his hand again—taking pictures can wait until he’s calmer. “We’ll be okay,” I tell him firmly. “Look at me. Look at everyone else. We’re all safe, and so are you.”

Once Kellin has settled down a little bit, he pulls out his phone and says, “Let’s just take one of those fifteen-second videos for Instagram.”

I nod in agreement. He opens the Instagram app and switches to video format, turning the camera toward us and holding down the button. “Hey!” Kellin says, speaking a bit louder so that he can be heard over the wind. “We’re, um, up in the sky!”

I do a quick wave, and then Kellin lets go of the button, switching the camera view and holding his phone up so that he can film the mountains. He holds the button down and then says in the background, “It’s pretty and all, but it’s kind of the scariest thing I’ve ever done!” A couple seconds later, the filming stops, and he posts the short clip with a caption that says,  _Me & Vic on a hot air balloon ride…I’m about to piss myself._

“Don’t actually do that,” I tell him once he’s put his phone away and resumed holding onto my hand.

Kellin smiles a little and rolls his eyes. “I’m not actually going to, obviously, but it sure as hell feels like it.”

The pilot is very cheerful and knowledgeable and explains different things to us about the area and the balloons, helping to cement the fact that this is a safe flight. When I let go of Kellin’s hand to take pictures, he still holds onto my arm —again, I don’t really mind. He looks over my shoulder as I snap photos of the Rio Grande Valley, at one point commenting, “That one looked really cool; could you send it to me later?”

I talk to him for the rest of the flight, distracting him with any topic, no matter how trivial. I also make sure to always be touching him somehow; the human contact seems to help him, ground him, remind him that he’s still here and that I’m not going to let go of him.

Even the landing is surprisingly smooth, and Kellin comments afterward that it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. He’s still a bit shaken once we’re back on solid ground, though, so we decide to take a break at our hotel, maybe catch up on our sleep a little, before we go out and do anything else.

I end up sleeping for longer than I expect, and the first thing I hear when I wake up is Kellin’s voice. It takes me a few seconds to realize that he’s not talking to me but to someone on the phone, and then I don’t pay attention, not even bothering to open my eyes. I just sort of lie there half-asleep, but Kellin’s voice floats through the room, and without meaning to, I pick up certain phrases: “No, I’m not…I don’t know what you’re talking about, I promise…I’m not up to anything, what are you…? Justin…”

Fighting again, I realize. They’re fighting again.

I’m more awake now, but I pretend that I’m not, keeping my eyes closed and my breathing slow and steady. Kellin seems to be pacing around the room, his voice getting louder as he comes closer to me and quieter when he starts to walk away again. “Please don’t be like this,” he says. “I know you don’t like what’s happening, but I promise…” His voice cracks a little, as if he’s in pain.

Justin says something else that I can’t hear, and then the call ends, followed by a frustrated sigh from Kellin, who promptly flops down onto his bed and sets his phone down on the nightstand. That’s the moment that I choose to finally open my eyes and roll over so that I’m facing him.

Kellin just looks at me, not even remotely surprised. “You heard that?”

I shrug, rubbing my eyes. “Some of it, yeah.”

Kellin laughs bitterly. “Figures.”

We’re both silent for a few moments, neither of us really knowing what to say. I’m upset and I’m jealous, my stupid feelings for Kellin getting in the way of everything, but I force them back and instead tell him, “You’ll figure it out.”

Kellin stares at me with soft, desperate eyes, a look I know all too well. “You think so?”

I nod, trying to be as reassuring as possible. “Whatever happens, Kells, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Kellin bites his lip, looking like he doesn’t really know how to respond. He sighs again and rolls over so that his back is facing me, and then he mutters something into his pillow. It’s quiet, and I’m not sure if it was meant for me to hear, but it kind of sounds like “I’m a fucking liar.”

I don’t ask him who he’s lying to.

—

_Go to the Sandia Peak Tramway. Eat at the restaurant. Take a selfie with the guy with the hat. (It’s not a dick hat this time, I promise.)_

“You know, I’m starting to wonder what Bree’s motivation is for making a bunch of these things height-related,” Kellin comments later in the day, as we’re driving to the tramway. “Does she hate me? Does she think that thrusting me into all these situations will help me face my fear? Or has she just somehow forgotten that I’m deathly afraid of heights? I’d like to have a word with her. Maybe I’ll get her a lizard for her birthday as revenge. She hates lizards.”

I laugh. “How devious of you.”

I can’t stop thinking about the way we’ve been talking, wondering if maybe we really could start over and create something better. Every time I start to think that, though, I remember that Kellin is already in a relationship—a relationship that, to me, doesn’t look like it’s going too well. I want to tell him that some of their relationship dynamics seem frighteningly reminiscent of the relationship that Craig and I used to have, but I don’t know how to say it or how Kellin will react. Hell, for all I know, he might get pissed and tell me that I’m just jealous and trying to break them up. I’m torn between the need to keep the peace and the urge to speak up.

The tram, which ascends the western side of the Sandia Mountains, takes about fifteen minutes to ride. Kellin holds onto me while I take a couple more pictures of the mountains and the view of Albuquerque, but he’s not as bad as he was on the balloon ride, since we’re in a more enclosed vehicle and it isn’t as long of a journey.

When we get to the top, I quickly figure out that the restaurant Bree mentioned in her comment is the High Finance Restaurant. “Oh, finally,” Kellin says as we make our way toward it. “I’m starving and I want to see what kind of ridiculous hat we have to find this time.”

The restaurant is fairly nice and has its own great views, especially out on the deck area—I make a mental note to go out there later and take a look. Kellin and I are seated near the window, and everything is fine until shortly after our orders are taken, when a flash of movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention.

I regret turning my head the moment my gaze falls on the guy who has just casually walked by our table and is now sitting back down at his own, barely twenty feet away from us. “What is it?” Kellin asks, trying to find what I’m looking at without being too obvious about it.

I feel sick to my stomach as I turn back around, glancing down at the table. “Craig,” I say, my throat feeling like it’s about to close up. “Craig’s here.”


	13. But I Have Grown Too Strong to Ever Fall Back in Your Arms

 

Kellin is immediately on edge, discreetly scanning the restaurant to find where Craig is sitting. “I’m gonna punch him,” he says decisively.

I hold my hands up. “Wait, no, don’t do that,” I say quickly, looking back over at Craig’s table, only to find that Craig has gotten up from his seat again and seems to be starting towards us. “I’ll deal with him. It might be about time that I confront him, I guess. You go look for, uh, Hat Guy.”

Kellin looks like he wants to protest, but before he can open his mouth, I add, “Nothing bad’s gonna happen. I promise. I can handle it.”

After a few more seconds of stubborn hesitation, he simply nods and slides out of his chair, off on a quest to find a guy with a hat, which shouldn’t be too difficult. Only a second or two after Kellin disappears around a corner, though, a familiar voice floats over to me, followed by two hands slamming down on the surface of the table. “Hey there, Vic. Long time no see.”

A chill runs down my spine, but I force myself to look up, practically feeling lightheaded just at the sight of my ex-boyfriend. I’ve been trying to push down the sick, nervous feeling, but it’s no use.

“Hi,” I manage, my voice coming out soft and even a little shaky. I can’t even think properly, let alone speak. Why is he even here? What does he want with me?

Craig raises an eyebrow. “That’s it?” he says, all swagger and intimidation. He knows exactly the kind of negative affect he’s having on me. “You act like you don’t even know me.”

 _I wish I didn’t._ I don’t dare to say that, though.

“Hmm. Typical. You always were a bit on the quiet side.” He shrugs and straightens himself up a little bit. “It’s fine; I can make you talk.”

He sits down in the seat across from me, where Kellin is supposed to be, and leans forward again. My hands have been resting on the table (mostly so that I can have something to look at other than him), and he grabs ahold of one, his fingers seeming to wrap around mine. “How’s my boy been, huh?”

“Fuck off,” I say bluntly, pulling my hand out of his grasp. I feel like I’ve been contaminated.

“Ouch,” Craig says, acting hurt, though he’s clearly not fazed at all; he probably expected that sort of reaction. “That really hurts, Vic. It does. I’m trying to mend a broken relationship here.”

 _You’re abusive and you’re trying to get inside my head._ I don’t tell him that, either.

I shake my head. “Stop it, Craig,” I say, my voice trembling ever-so-slightly. “Go away. Please. I don’t want anything to do with you. You hurt me and I don’t want you anymore. Just get away from me.” It’s probably the most I’ve ever said to him on the subject of his abuse.

That seems to shock him, if only slightly; he’s not used to me talking back to him like that, and he’s especially not used to me telling him point-blank that he hurt me. But I’m sick of him, and I’m too far gone in my freedom from him to ever be able to regress and fall back into his arms.

For a split second, I’m afraid of his reaction, terrified of his anger just like I used to be, but before Craig has a chance to speak, an angel named Kellin Quinn saves me, closely followed by a dude wearing a hat shaped like a squid.

“Um…hi,” Kellin says slowly, taking in the scene in front of him. I give him a look that I hope conveys desperation, a look that begs him to help me get Craig somewhere far, far away.

“Oh, hello there,” Craig says, a smirk forming on his lips. “How have you been? Hooking up with any, ah, locals?”

Kellin just raises an eyebrow, looking thoroughly confused. “Um, no. I, uh, have a…boyfriend?” He says the word “boyfriend” as if he’s unsure about it.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Craig says, seeming to eye me for half of a second before he returns his attention to Kellin. “Well, then, you’d better not be looking at any other fish in the sea.” His voice is deceptively light, but I can sense the threat hidden underneath.

Kellin’s eyes widen a little, and I can’t help but admit that I’m just as shocked as he is. “Craig, I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” I tell him, once again being a lot more blunt than I’m used to (it’s kind of terrifying, but I also kind of like it). “Run along. You’re creeping out the squid guy.”

Craig glances over at the guy with the squid hat, who does look pretty freaked out. “Whatever,” Craig says, standing up and starting to head back over to his table. “But I’ll be catching up with you later, Vic.”

Once he’s gone, Kellin and I both breathe a sigh of relief, Kellin smiling awkwardly at Hat Guy. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Really. We didn’t know he’d be here. He’s an asshole. Forget he exists.”

“Will do,” the guy says, laughing a little and seeming to shake off the strange experience. “So, Bree’s ex-boyfriend, I believe we have a selfie to take?”

Kellin smiles a bit wider, nodding and pulling his phone out. “Yeah, yeah. Get over here, Vic.”

I get up from my chair and stand next to Kellin, the squid guy positioned on Kellin’s other side. I just smile, but Kellin and Hat Guy both make funny faces, Kellin sticking his tongue out (and looking strangely attractive as he does it) and Hat Guy crossing his eyes. It’s ridiculous-looking, but that’s probably what Bree was going for.

 _We found a squid in a restaurant on top of a mountain,_ Kellin’s caption reads. I can’t help but laugh.

We get our food shortly after Hat Guy leaves, and Craig doesn’t come back; in fact, he leaves the restaurant not long after our little encounter. I’m immediately relieved that he’s no longer here watching us, but Kellin’s emotions stay a little bit longer.

On the ride back down the tramway, Kellin shakes with what I think is a mixture of fear and anger. I wrap an arm around him, holding him close to me, but he doesn’t calm down much. “I can’t believe that guy,” he says, quiet but tense. I told him about what Craig said to me while he was gone, and he’s been absolutely furious ever since.

“It’s not a big deal,” I say softly, lightly rubbing his back. “It’s over now. And it’s not like I’m going back to him. As far as I’m concerned, he’s gone from my life.”

“It’s still awful,” Kellin says, clenching and unclenching his fist. “He can’t treat you that way, and I hate knowing that he’s treated you like that for so long.” He’s clearly pissed, but I can also see horrible anxiety pulsing through him, and I’m not sure if it’s all because of the heights or if this whole Craig thing could be contributing to it, too.

“I know,” I reply. “I know. But it’s over now.”

Kellin takes a deep, shaky breath. The fact that it’s over doesn’t seem to comfort him at all.

On the way back to our hotel, Kellin starts texting someone fairly intensely, replying immediately and typing quickly. I don’t have to think too hard to figure out that he’s probably talking to Justin, and I try not to think too hard about it.

By the time we get to our room, though, it’s become painfully obvious—just like it always does—that this is not a peaceful conversation (it seems like they never get along). Kellin shows the familiar signs of stress and frustration, a sigh here and a groan there as he agitatedly runs his fingers through his hair. I put the TV on in a vain attempt at distracting both of us; really, all it ends up doing is drowning out some of the noise, and even then, it doesn’t hide everything, especially not when Kellin’s phone rings.

Kellin sighs again. “Why,” he says to no one in particular, “does he always feel the need to settle our arguments over the phone?”

He seems to contemplate it for a good five seconds before he answers the call, walking into the bathroom and closing the door, as if to get as far away from me as possible. I turn the volume on the TV up a couple notches, but it still doesn’t block everything out. I can hear Kellin speaking, occasionally making out a few phrases here and there, phrases like “Stop blaming me” and “Don’t be like this.” Then, when he raises his voice, the desperate pleading seems to shift to something more akin to anger, and the phrases change to things like “You don’t know what you’re talking about” and “Stop treating me like I’m stupid.”

I try not to listen, but a part of me wants to keep an eye on their conversation, more for Kellin’s safety than anything else. Their relationship is already looking less than ideal, and I don’t want it to get to the point where he could be in actual danger. It seems unlikely, but I don’t know Justin that well, and he seems like someone who gets pissed easily.

Only a few seconds after these thoughts cross my mind, Kellin shouts, loud and clear, “Well, I’m _not_ sorry this time! I’m not! I don’t even fucking care! Just get out of my life!”

The arguing stops after that, promptly followed by Kellin slamming the bathroom door open and storming out into the main area. He hops onto his bed, dropping his phone on the nightstand, and makes a loud groaning sound into his pillow.

I turn the TV volume down. “Kellin,” I say slowly, half-expecting him not to respond.

“What?” he replies without looking up, his voice muffled. “Yes, we broke up, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Well, I could’ve guessed that,” I tell him. “Are you okay?”

I expect him to either A) insist that, yes, he’s perfectly fine, even though he’s clearly not, or B) tell me that it’s none of my business whether or not he’s okay. Surprisingly, he doesn’t do either of those things. Instead, he shakes his head and mumbles, “Not really.”

I crawl off of my own bed and then climb up into his, lightly rubbing my hand on his back because I’m not quite sure what else to do. He lifts his head up, turning and looking at me with wide, wounded eyes. It’s probably the most vulnerable I’ve seen him on this entire trip, and it reminds me of how vulnerable he used to be, before he built his walls up and closed his softness off from the world.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says quietly. “Just…hold me or something, I guess.”

He doesn’t tell me not to take it the wrong way, but he doesn’t have to. I’m well aware that now is not the time to make a move (even though I wasn’t planning on making a move anyway), and we both know that when he tells me to hold him, it’s not for romance, but for comfort. I’m fine with that. I know my boundaries.

We both position ourselves so that we’re facing forward, my arm around him as he leans his head on my shoulder. He doesn’t cry, but the pained expression on his face tells me that he’s hurting; he’s just holding a lot of it in. That’s not what he would’ve done a year ago. A year ago, he would’ve let it all out.

“It’s okay to cry, you know,” I whisper to him. “It’s okay to be upset.”

He nods but doesn’t respond.

After a couple more moments, I dare to ask: “Do you think you’ll ever go back to him?”

“No,” he says immediately, his voice monotone but firm. “Never. I’m better than that. Which is saying something, because I’m a shit person.”

“You’re not,” I assure him.

Kellin just buries his face in my chest, his hands shaking.

—

_I hope you made your reservations. Go horseback riding. Take a selfie with one of the horses._

The next morning, when we head off to the Stables at Tamaya for a two-hour trail ride, Kellin acts as if nothing happened. I ask him once how he’s feeling, and he replies with a curt “I’m fine.” I don’t ask him again, because I know it won’t do any good. He’s already decided to ignore his and Justin’s breakup.

By the time we reach the stables and the staff are preparing us for our ride, Kellin has actually started talking to me. He mostly just makes brief observations about the place, but it’s in a casual sort of way that warrants a response—small talk, really.

“This is kind of exciting,” he says at one point, when we’re mounted on our horses and have just set off for the group ride with a guide leading the way. “I’ve never done this before; have you?”

“Other than those pony rides at carnivals that I did when I was little? Nope.” I smile a little. “But I think this horse likes me.”

“Who _wouldn’t_ like you?” Kellin mumbles. I don’t know if he meant for me to hear it or not.

The ride takes us on a gorgeous scenic route, showcasing the mountains and the rivers we pass as the guide talks to us about the horses and the charity work that’s been done. Kellin comments to me that he’s seen a lot of beautiful things on this trip.

I can’t help but notice just how carefree he seems, and I start to wonder if he’s trying to cover up his emotions or if he just truly doesn’t care. No matter what it might be, it’s kind of strange to see just how little this breakup affects him outwardly, especially considering how much of a mess he was last night. Deep down, I know he’s probably just trying to seem calm and happy for the moment. I have a feeling that he won’t be as content later in the day, when we’re alone and he’s forced to confront what happened.

For now, though, it’s kind of fun to pretend we’re okay.

“Okay, selfie time,” Kellin says after the ride as we’re dismounting our horses. “Get over here, Vic. This horse is gonna be Instagram-famous.”

“You’re not even Instagram-famous,” I tease as I position myself next to him beside the horse.

“Shh,” Kellin says, flashing a goofy grin and taking the picture of us. _We may or may not have found/ridden some horses…fun times,_ his caption reads. His smile is so bright that I almost fall for it.

Then I realize that I already have fallen for it, in a different sort of way.

—

We spend most of the rest of the day exploring Albuquerque and then hanging out at our hotel in the evening. It’s nice to spend some time with him—nicer than I’ll ever admit—but I’m still kind of concerned about how he’s dealing with things. I know it’s not really my place to worry about him, but every now and then, I wonder how he really feels. I don’t expect to get an answer out of him, though.

In our hotel, Kellin’s cheerful façade fades a little bit. He’s quieter and more solemn, and I can’t help but think that he looks kind of conflicted, as if he isn’t quite sure what to do. I flip through the TV channels, hoping to find something that’ll get his problems off of his mind. We eventually settle on some random thriller that neither of us are too invested in.

At one point, during a particularly violent scene, Kellin hops off of his own bed and climbs onto mine with me. He doesn’t say anything, but I can already tell what he wants, and I wrap an arm around him. He whispers something to himself that sounds oddly like “I missed this.”

I don’t know what triggers it. I don’t know what the final straw is, what makes something snap inside of him, what causes all his inhibitions to fly out the window. All I know is that, less than five minutes later, Kellin has lifted his head up off of my shoulder and is staring right at me with a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

Before I can ask what could be wrong, what he could possibly be thinking, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine.

My first reaction is to kiss back, even before the confusion sets in. It’s deceptively perfect for a few short seconds, and I even manage to lift my hand up and rest it on his cheek in that short amount of time. It doesn’t last, though, because just as quickly as he kissed me, Kellin sharply and abruptly pulls away from me, his eyes wide with shock and horror, as if he’s just been caught doing something unspeakably shameful.

“Kellin,” I say quietly, but I’m not sure how to finish my sentence; I just feel the need to say something, to somehow acknowledge what just happened.

Kellin shakes his head, crawling off the bed and backing away slowly, never taking his eyes off me. “I’m so sorry,” he says, covering his mouth with his hand, as if to stop his cursed lips from committing any more terrible crimes without his permission. “Oh my God. Fuck.”

“It’s not—” I start, about to tell him that it isn’t a huge deal, but he cuts me off.

“Just…just let me be,” he says. “I h-have to be alone for now.” Then, before I can get a chance to object, he turns and rushes out the door of our hotel room, leaving me with tingling lips, a head that’s spinning, and a rapidly pounding heart.


	14. Faith in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello im back from my unofficial Longer Than Expected hiatus sorry i suck!! im not gonna give a super long explanation other than that my life is always busy and im always a mess but im back!! and i mean it this time ok i’ve been writing and planning so much these past couple weeks and i have like 3 new fics that i’ve been getting ready for so keep an eye out for new stuff!! i luv yall thank u 4 sticking w/ me

 

For a few moments, all I can do is sit there, trying to process what just happened. The TV is still on, but it’s all background noise, a soft hum compared to the memory of Kellin’s lips on mine, repeating over and over again in my head.

I don’t know where he’s planning on going, but I feel like I have to find him. I don’t want to just sit here alone and wait for him to decide to come back, even though I know he’ll have to do that eventually. Who knows what he could be up to?

As I grab the hotel key off the nightstand and head out of the room, I can’t help but remember how the tables were turned that time last year, when I stormed out of our room after finding out that my parents were splitting up. I remember it hitting me harder than it probably should’ve—I’d grown so distrusting of relationships after Craig broke up with me that it felt as though love was just a myth. I remember breaking down, saying that nothing good could ever come out of it, that nothing would ever last. It’s been a year since then, and even though Kellin and I are both kind of a mess right now, I think I can still safely say that my views have changed, at least somewhat. If I can get over an emotionally abusive asshole like Craig, can break free of him and move on, then maybe there’s hope after all.

I can’t see Kellin anywhere in the hallways, and something’s telling me that he’s not going to be anywhere in the hotel. That’s one thing we have in common: when we want to brood, we’ll be out somewhere. So out I go.

It’s late, but the air is still fairly warm, though not overwhelmingly so. I’m not really sure which way to go from the hotel, but the city seems busier off to my left, so I decide to head right. Kellin should ideally be outside along the edge of the sidewalk somewhere, whether it’s hiding in a nearby alley, walking aimlessly through the city, or sitting on a bench or something.

I’m almost shocked at how I’ve managed to lose him this quickly. I left the hotel room maybe ten to twenty seconds after he did, so he should be right ahead, but I can’t see him or anybody that looks like him. He must’ve performed some sort of disappearing act.

I’m about to turn around and try the other way, wondering if maybe I was wrong and Kellin really did venture into the more bustling areas, but before I do that, I decide to stop and ask a guy walking past me in the other direction.

“Hey,” I say, slowing down as he comes closer. “Sorry to bother, but did you happen to see a young dude down this way? Long dark hair, real pale looking, kind of on the short side? Probably looks either pissed or anxious or both?”

The guy slows down, too, narrowing his eyes. “Does he smoke? ‘Cause I just saw someone that could fit your description smoking alone on a bench. Didn’t get a real good look at him, but it could be your guy.”

I nod quickly. “Yeah, yeah, that’s probably him. Where is he? Just down here?”

“Yeah,” the dude replies. “Just keep walking until you get to the end of the block and turn right. You’ll see him right there.”

“Thanks,” I say breathlessly, hurrying off in the same direction I’ve been going. Sure enough, when I round the corner, I find Kellin smoking a cigarette on a bench, watching the traffic as it rushes by.

Before I have a chance to speak, Kellin glances over, raising his eyebrows when he sees me. “Vic?” he says, holding the cigarette between his middle and index fingers. “What are you…?”

For a moment, I’m not quite sure how to answer. “Looking for you,” I say finally, because it’s the truth. I just wanted to make sure that he was okay, that he wasn’t going off to do something stupid or self-destructive. I mean, technically smoking is still self-destructive, but I can’t really yell at him for that.

Kellin just stares at me, his eyes flicking up and down. He takes another drag of his cigarette, presumably to delay having to respond. “Okay. Well. You found me.”

After that, neither of us say anything, forming an unbearably awkward silence between the two of us. When I can’t take it any longer, I sigh and say, “Please come back to the room with me. I just…I’ll feel better knowing you’re there. You don’t have to talk to me at all if you don’t want to.”

Kellin stares at me for a few more seconds before taking a final drag and then tossing the cigarette into the trashcan next to the bench. “Okay,” he says, but it’s clear that he’s put his walls back up again for reasons that I’m not sure he’ll ever explain. “But…yeah. Don’t expect me to talk to you about…you know. _That._ ”

Of course, by “that,” he means the kiss. The kiss he initiated. The kiss he probably regrets more than anything.

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond; he just stands up and walks past me, turning the corner and heading back to the hotel. All I can do is follow him and hope that because we’ve hit such a low, things will only be able to get better.

But I’ve been wrong before.

—

I’m right on the edge of falling asleep when my phone rings.

It startles me, waking me up immediately, and obviously, the first thing that crosses my mind is, _Who the fuck would be calling me so late?_

For a moment, I consider not even checking to see who it is, but I figure that since I’m officially wide awake now, I might as well. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand and squinting at the light from the screen, I find that, out of all people, it’s Tony.

Considering that the last time I talked to him we were discussing Mike’s possible issues with substance abuse, this can’t be good.

With my heart suddenly pounding rapidly in my chest, I answer the call. “Hello?” I whisper in an attempt to not wake Kellin up (though chances are the phone ringing probably disturbed his sleep at least somewhat). “Tony? What’s going on?”

“Vic,” he starts, his voice shaking slightly. “I’m sorry for calling so late without a warning. I couldn’t think of who else to talk to. Mike’s not dead, by the way; I promise. It’s just…” He takes a deep breath. “We’ve…been arguing a lot lately. And I think we might split up.”

My heart drops into my stomach, and I sit straight up. “You—what?” I don’t even know how to respond. “I…why?”

Tony sighs. “I want to stay with him. I do. And I want to help him more than anything. But he just won’t listen to me at all; he insists that he’s fine, or that I’m just too concerned, or that I’m trying to control him or something…it’s just really putting a strain on our relationship. We can’t stop fighting and I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid that loving him might not be enough. We haven’t decided anything yet, but I’m afraid of what might happen between us.”

I’m speechless for longer than I’d like to admit. I try my best to remain calm and collected, but all I can think about is my little brother, falling apart and in denial, ruining his relationships because he’s too stubborn to admit when he needs help. “I…I don’t…” I stutter. “I don’t know what to…I don’t know what to say.”

If I were in a better state of mind, maybe I’d be able to give him advice to help them get through it, but right now I’m just shocked and hurting for them both. The anger and despair are rising up in my chest again, reminding me of when I found out about my parents’ divorce. Just when I think my relationship with Craig didn’t fuck me up, just when I think I’m able to get past it and have faith in love again, something like this shows just how fragile that faith really is.

“I know,” Tony says to me. “I know it’s hard. I know it’s upsetting. I didn’t come to you looking for some sort of advice. It’s just…I needed to tell someone what’s been going on, and I figured you deserved to know.”

I bite my lip, nodding even though he can’t see it. “Thank you,” I say softly, my voice shaking even more than his. “For telling me.” Then, before I can think too much more about it, I hang up.

As soon as I end the call, I hear the sound of rustling bedsheets, followed by a whisper from Kellin: “What’s wrong?”

I turn to look at him. I can barely make out his face in the darkness, but I can see him sitting up in bed, looking at me with what is most likely concern.

I grit my teeth, trying my best to hold in an angry sob. I can’t help how upset I am, and I fucking hate it. “Mike and Tony…are having relationship issues,” I say slowly. When it’s worded like that, when I’m speaking it out loud, I can’t help but think that it sounds like a stupid reason to be so hurt. “Mike’s having…problems. And he doesn’t wanna get help. And it’s…” I trail off, unable to articulate the situation in a way that’ll make him understand. Then again, he saw me the night I found out about my parents. Maybe he already understands.

A sudden pang of anger surges through me, and I automatically grip onto my hair, pulling it as an outlet. “I’m so fucking stupid,” I groan, closing my eyes.

Next to me, I hear the sound of Kellin crawling out of his bed, followed by the creaking of my mattress as he hops in with me, wrapping his arms around me. “You’re not stupid.”

I shake my head, a mess of emotion, of rage and sadness and embarrassment and the feeling of being a failure. I thought I could handle this. I thought I was over this.

“I just wanna forget,” I say. “I wanna destroy myself.”

Kellin slides over, positioning himself so that he’s sitting directly in front of me. Gently, he takes ahold of both of my wrists, pulling my hands down so that they’re in my lap instead of yanking at my hair. “No, you don’t,” he says. “Vic. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, I look up, meeting his eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay. I know it feels like the end of the world right now, but it’s not. I promise it’s not.” He flashes me a brief smile, a small act of reassurance. “You came looking for me tonight to make sure I wasn’t hurting myself or doing anything stupid. The least I can do is return the favor.”

I nod slowly, breathing deeply in and out in an effort to calm myself down. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” I say finally.

Kellin shakes his head. “It’s fine. I was already having trouble sleeping.”

I sigh, biting my lip as I fall back down on the bed, closing my eyes. I expect Kellin to go back to his own bed, so I’m more than a little shocked when he slides in next to me underneath the covers.

I open my eyes and turn to look at him. I don’t even have to ask the question, because he just says, “I think I might stay here tonight…if that’s okay with you.”

I bite my lip, staring in awe at the guy who, only a few hours ago, was so ashamed of kissing me that he ran away. I’m not going to ask about that, though; it’s clear that he has his own things that he needs to work through. Besides, it’s late, I’m already stressed, and all I really want to do is fall asleep.

“Okay,” I say quietly. And that’s that.

The last time I slept with someone else in the bed with me, it was Craig, and it was nowhere near as peaceful or comforting as this is. Kellin’s body is soft and warm against mine, his one arm draped lazily across my body as we lie in a loose spooning position that I don’t think either of us really tried.

“Are you still awake?” I breathe when I’m close to falling asleep.

“Yeah,” Kellin replies. “I’m waiting until you’re asleep.”

“Why?” I ask, my eyes still closed as sleep finally starts to come for me.

“Because I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Neither of us say anything for the rest of the night, but only because we don’t really have anything else to say. It’s as if we’ve left all our problems and conflicts behind in the quiet, unreal hours between night and day.


	15. Glowing Eyes

 

_Go vintage. Take a video of yourselves while watching a movie at the urban drive-in. It’s like a video of a video. Video-ception.  
Song: Snow in Austin - Ellis Paul_

This what our next clue says, so in the morning, Kellin and I pack up our things and head off to Austin, Texas while Kellin gets us reservations for a show tonight at the Blue Starlite Mini Urban Drive-In. I ask Kellin what movie we’ll be seeing in an attempt to start a conversation, but his curt response lets me know that he’s really not that interested in talking—to me, or to anyone. I don’t think either of us really know what to say about everything that happened last night. It’s hard to process, especially when we’re both pretty tired.

We’re about an hour into our drive when Kellin finally decides to break the silence. “Okay,” he sighs. “Listen. I’m sorry for being so weird and distant. I’ve got a lot of things on my mind.”

I shrug. “Take your time,” I say automatically. “Figure things out at your own pace.”

Kellin nods, quiet for a short moment before he continues, “I just…I want us to be friends.” He pauses. “Just friends.”

I think about asking him why he kissed me, then, if he only wanted us to be friends. I think about asking him to explain the mixed signals, the way that his actions seem to say the opposite of his words. But I know that prying will only push him even farther away, and I can’t let that happen, so I just say, “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.”

Kellin lets out a slow breath. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah. Okay. Good. That’s good.” I’m not really sure if he’s talking to me or to himself.

“So,” I say after another few seconds of silence. “Listen to any good music lately?”

I don’t really expect him to respond, but to my surprise, he smiles a little and says, “Oh! Yeah, actually…”

The rest of the drive is spent pretty comfortably, with Kellin and I chatting fairly casually like old times or just listening to music together. I try not to get used to it, though, because knowing us, we’ll fuck our relationship up again in no time at all. But it’s a lot of fun while it lasts.

When we get to Austin, we drop off all our stuff in our hotel room, and then we’re back in the car. “So, what did you read about this place on the website?” I ask Kellin as we head to the drive-in.

“Okay, well, I know they have a little fire outside for roasting marshmallows and making s’mores,” Kellin replies, “and we can also get hot dogs and popcorn and soda and that sort of stuff. Oh, and candy. I’ve already decided I’m getting myself some Sour Patch Kids. We’re not allowed to be noticeably intoxicated. Oh, and we _can_ make out during the movie, but we have to keep our clothes on.”

I snort, raising my eyebrows at him. “Of course that’s what it said.”

Kellin lightly smacks my arm. “Do you think I made that part up? Because I swear on my life, that’s what it says. It’s all on their FAQ page.”

I laugh. “Even if that _is_ what it says, why is that rule one of the key things you remembered?” I tease.

After the words are out of my mouth, I briefly wonder if Kellin’s going to take it the wrong way or get mad at me. Luckily, though, he just makes a “ _Pffft_ ” noise and says, “I just thought it was funny! I liked how specific they were! I promise I’m not insinuating anything!” His cheeks are bright red.

“Oh, really? Because your face looks like a tomato.”

“Shut up!”

Our car is on the smaller side, so when we get there, a little less than an hour before showtime, we grab ourselves a pretty good spot near the front. It really does have an awesome vintage vibe—they’ve even got vintage window speakers for anyone who wants one. It’s kind of amazing how the place is in an urban environment yet still feels like an authentic drive-in out in the woods. Predictably, the first thing that Kellin does once we’re parked is drag me over to where the food is, because “If we have forty-five minutes to just do nothing, we might as well spend it eating dinner!”

Not that I’m going to argue.

The hot dogs are actually pretty good, and so is the popcorn, especially when drowned in butter. Kellin deliberately burns the marshmallow for his s’more because that’s the way he likes it, and, as promised, he buys himself a pack of Sour Patch Kids. (I get Skittles.) It’s wonderfully strange how such mundane things suddenly become so much more fun when they’re with him.

Almost as soon as those types of thoughts cross my mind, though, I do my best to push them out and reason with myself. It doesn’t matter that he kissed me. It doesn’t matter that he helped me in the middle of a near-breakdown. He wants us to be friends and that’s it.

But that doesn’t stop me from wishing it could be different.

When the movie starts, Kellin pulls out his phone and opens up the Instagram app, leaning over so that he can get both of the shot. “Hi,” he says quietly as he records. “Kellin and Vic here. In Austin. At a drive-in. The movie’s just starting but I feel weird talking loudly.” He changes it to the other camera and records a few seconds of the movie as it’s rolling on the screen, as well as a shot of the radio that we’re using to listen to the audio. “Video-ception,” he whispers with a goofy little grin as he aims his phone back up at the screen one last time before he stops recording. “Okay. Done.”

After he posts the video and sets his phone down, he and I both try to focus our attention on the actual movie. I’m kind of glad that we already finished all our popcorn, because if we didn’t, I’m sure we’d fall victim to reaching into the bag at the same time and suffering from the awkward accidental handholding thing. We don’t need any more tension between us, especially not after we only just seem to have established some sort of peace agreement. As much as I’d like to just kiss him, I have to hold myself back, for his own good as well as mine.

Things are okay and stable between us until we start getting farther into the movie. Kellin keeps glancing over at me and then looking away as soon as I turn my head toward him, and I can’t help but keep doing the same thing. I want to believe that there’s something there, but I push those thoughts and hopes away consistently. I can’t let my longing for him or my frustration with his confusing, contradictory actions control me.

Just as I force myself to tear my gaze away from him, doing everything I can to immerse myself in this film even though it’s something I’ve already seen, Kellin acts on what seem to be the same feelings that spurred him last night. Without any warning at all, he leans over and pulls me closer to him by the shirt, and then he kisses me.

It’s harder, more confident, than the way he kissed me yesterday, but there’s still the air of uncertainty, of impulsivity, of forgetting about consequences for one short moment. It only takes me about three seconds to kiss him back, wrapping a hand lightly around the nape of his neck to keep him steady and close.

“God,” I mutter against his lips. “You confuse the fuck out of me.”

Kellin doesn’t seem to mind that or the way I say it, because he just pulls himself away briefly, shoots me a bittersweet smirk, and says, “Good. It’s better that way.” Then he kisses me again.

I don’t know what this means for us, but right now I don’t really care. All I care about is his lips on mine and his hands on my body. All I care about is getting a taste of the guy I’ve missed and craved more than I can even comprehend.

Kellin breaks the kiss again, his breath shallow, but only so that he can climb over the center of the car into my seat, sitting on my lap with half-closed eyes and swollen lips. “Okay,” he pants. “So maybe I _was_ insinuating something when I told you we could make out.”

I laugh a little. “Don’t stop,” I tell him. “Because later we’re both gonna hate ourselves for this, you know.”

Kellin just shrugs, and then, without another word, he resumes our impromptu make-out session.

We don’t go much farther than that, but it’s enough: enough to get us both hot and bothered, and enough to make me seriously question what exactly Kellin means when he says “friends.”

—

_Go swimming. One of you, take a video of the other pissing off a lifeguard. I don’t care how you do it._

“Unfortunately, I didn’t expect us to be going swimming, so I didn’t bring my suit with me this time,” I say the next day as Kellin and I discuss where to go for this adventure.

Kellin really isn’t fazed. “Me neither. But it doesn’t matter. I can think of plenty of ways to piss off a lifeguard that don’t necessarily require a swimsuit.”

Predictably, we haven’t talked about what happened at the drive-in last night. Kellin hasn’t said anything, and I’m not sure how to bring it up without jeopardizing our “friendship” even more. On the surface, he really doesn’t seem to have any reason for kissing me other than the fact that he just likes kissing me. I’m afraid that if I pry too much, he’ll get defensive. Maybe he’ll claim that physical attraction doesn’t mean shit, or that I’m vain or hopeless for thinking that there’s anything more going on between us. Or maybe he’s using me as an outlet to get over his breakup so that he doesn’t actually have to deal with it. He’s just so confusing, and the thing is, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what he wants, either. If _he_ can’t even figure himself out, then how the hell am I supposed to?

Right now, my plan is just to keep going along with him and try not to overstep my boundaries out of fear of alienating him or revealing my own feelings. We’re in relationship limbo.

After a quick Google search, Kellin and I find a public swimming pool near our hotel and make the trip over. “It’ll be easy,” Kellin says on the way there. “And funny, probably. Bree should get a good laugh out of this one. I think I already have an idea of what I’m gonna do.”

I raise my eyebrows. “I’m scared to ask.”

“It won’t be anything bad, I promise,” he insists. “And it won’t be super outrageous. It’ll just be funny, if it works.”

“Well, knowing you, I think it’ll definitely work.”

The place isn’t too crowded, since it’s still kind of early and the pool itself only opened less than an hour ago, but there are still quite a few families hanging out. Kellin and I immediately scope out the area and the couple lifeguards stationed out in the various chairs.

“Aha!” Kellin says, discreetly gesturing to a young, conventionally attractive dude sitting underneath an umbrella. He’s wearing a red baseball cap and sunglasses and drinking some sort of beverage from a plastic cup. “That’s our man,” Kellin tells me.

“Well, that was easy,” I say as Kellin gives me his phone to record whatever stunt he’s about to pull. “Do your thing, then. I’ll be ready.”

Kellin flashes me a mischievous grin. “Good thing this place is free, because if he chases after us, we’re getting the hell out of here.”

“Oh no.”

I sit down in one of the empty pool chairs, aiming my camera at Kellin and starting to record as he walks over to the lifeguard chair. After a short pause, he starts to climb up the side of the chair.

The lifeguard spins around almost immediately. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but he’s probably at least slightly annoyed. Kellin just smiles at him and pulls his baseball cap right off his head.

There’s a fairly audible “Hey!” from the lifeguard as Kellin jumps off the chair and starts running around the side of the pool. “No running!” the lifeguard shouts as he climbs off of the chair and starts jogging/fast-walking after Kellin.

“Run!” Kellin calls as he gets closer to me. I stop recording—I think we’ve gotten our point across—and join him in fleeing the pool area. We run out and head for parking lot, but Kellin makes sure to toss the baseball cap behind him on his way out (it lands somewhere in the shallow section of the pool). We don’t stop until we’re both safely in the car, laughing our asses off.

“Okay,” I say as I start the car up, “that was pretty funny.”

“See?” Kellin says. “I told you. It doesn’t have to be super unthinkable to be funny.”

“Did you see the look on his face?” I giggle. “And the fact that he chased after you right after telling you that you couldn’t run! And, like, jogging!”

Kellin laughs even harder. “Did he even wonder who I was or why I decided to climb up there and steal his hat out of nowhere? I bet he’s going back to his seat like, ‘What was that guy’s deal? I’ve never seen him before in my life! What beef does he have with me?’”

Something about it is just so goddamn funny—maybe it’s just the fact that neither of us have laughed this hard over something so daring and weird in far too long. It feels good to laugh so hard we can’t breathe. It feels good to break free of any leftover tension from the past couple of days.

As we’re driving back to the hotel, anxiously awaiting our next endeavor, I can’t help but think that maybe not all hope is lost for Kellin and I. If we’ve still got this sort of happiness, this carefree attitude, hidden inside of us somewhere, then maybe it’s not too late to fix everything. Maybe it’s just a rare burst of optimism, but I swear I can see something more than friendship happening between us. The way Kellin’s looking at me, the genuine way that he smiles and laughs, the way that his eyes are glowing like the stars again for the first time since we’ve reunited—if I still have the ability to bring all that out in him, then I can’t give up just yet.


	16. Sit Back and Relapse Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey if u haven’t already u should check out my new kellic fic “badlands” which u can find on my profile !!! i posted the first chapter on tuesday and will be writing that one as well as this one (though this fic will probably be my main priority until its finished) :-)

_Next up: a club that’s very continental. Take a selfie with the guy in purple._

This clue leads us to a club known as—you guessed it—the Continental Club. Apparently, it’s a fairly famous venue known for its live music. Neither of us know who “the guy in purple” is going to be, but if this situation is anything like the “guy in the hat” clues, then he shouldn’t be too hard to spot.

Kellin and I wait until later to head out—the first act of the night had already started by the time we get there and seat ourselves at the bar on the left side of the main area. Up from us the stage with a neon pinkish-reddish sign in the background, and scattered around in front of it is a fair amount of seating for those who want a good place to watch the musicians. We aren’t here for the musicians, though; none of them are wearing purple.

After Kellin and I get ourselves settled, Kellin stands up and scans the room, pointing suddenly. “Over there!”

I turn to see what he’s gesturing at and find a tall guy standing near the back of the room, chatting casually with some other people. None of them seem fazed that he’s wearing a bright, glittery purple suit, top hat and all. It’s undeniably our guy.

“Where do people even buy this stuff?” I wonder out loud as Kellin and I head over to him.

It feels kind of awkward to just interrupt him while he’s in the middle of a conversation, but fortunately, he seems to realize why we’re here as soon as he sees us. “Kellin and Vic?” he asks knowingly, raising an eyebrow.

“That’d be us,” I reply as Kellin holds his phone up.

“Gather ‘round,” the guy says immediately, so Kellin and I pose with him, Kellin holding his phone out to get us all in the shot.

“Awesome,” Kellin says once the picture has been taken. “Thanks, dude.”

“Anytime,” the guy says, waving at us as we make our way back over to the bar. The people he was talking to seem more confused as to why we’re here than they are as to why he’s wearing a purple glitter suit.

Kellin promptly posts the selfie, which he’s captioned with _Found the guy in purple!! #continentalclub._ It’s admittedly pretty funny-looking, but I don’t have any time to appreciate it, because then my phone rings.

After what happened the other night, I’m hesitant to even look at the caller ID, but I force myself to, hoping it’ll just be some telemarketer that I can ignore. I’m not that lucky, though; it’s Tony again.

“Um, I gotta take this,” I say to Kellin. “I’ll be right back.”

It’s too loud to answer the call in here, so I head outside, sitting down at a lone table right in front of the place. “Hello?” I say, expecting the worst. “What’s going on?”

“Hey, Vic.” Tony sounds tired and upset as he takes a deep breath. “Mike and I…Mike wants to file for divorce.”

With just that one sentence, it feels like everything around me is crashing down. It’s like finding out about my parents all over again. Through the lump in my throat, I squeeze out, “Is there any way you can stop him? Change his mind?”

“I’ve been trying,” Tony says pathetically, his voice cracking. “I want to save this relationship more than anything. But we can’t stop arguing, and Mike keeps saying that I’m, like, suppressing him. He says he feels like he’s suffocating.” He takes another breath, as if he’s trying not to cry. “I’m gonna keep fighting for this, Vic, I promise. I can’t imagine giving up on him. But it’s like he’s already given up on himself, on us. I’m so sorry.”

I know he’s saying he’ll keep fighting to make me feel better, but I’ve already spiraled down, unable to comprehend, unwilling to accept. I don’t even think when I hang up on him. I’m filled up with so much anger and despair that they’re the only things controlling me, blocking out any possible voice of reason. All I can think is that I need to get rid of this feeling somehow. I have to drown it out.

I run back inside.

I don’t know where Kellin is—he’s not where he was when I left—but at this point, I don’t really care. My phone is ringing again, probably Tony trying to make sure I’m okay, but I don’t really care about that, either. Everything is a whirlwind as I order one drink, then another, then another, downing them all like it’s some sort of fucking contest. I can feel myself slipping away, into a better world where no one can get hurt. The alcohol has taken ahold of me, soothing the horrible emotions, blessing me with bliss and oblivion.

Four months clean down the drain.

Time loses its meaning as the world starts to spin. I’ve taken to wandering around the club, practically tripping over my own two feet as all the lights and people blur together. The music just sounds like noise that I can’t decipher, and I can’t think about anything else because I’m focusing so hard on standing upright and not bumping into anyone.

“Vic,” a voice calls. At first I can’t place who it belongs to, but then, as the owner of the voice comes closer, I manage to connect the dots in my head: Craig.

I open my mouth to say something, though I’m not quite sure what, but he stops me before I can even try to form words—by kissing me right on the mouth.

I’m blackout drunk and unable to speak, but in the back of my mind, I’m dimly aware of the fact that I don’t want this, don’t want him. I try to push him away, but it’s a pathetic and weak attempt; he’s not as drunk as I am and much bigger than me. “Go away,” I slur, but it doesn’t sound as clear as I want it to.

Before he can do anything else, I turn and rush back to the bar, crashing into people and trying not to fall over. Almost as soon as I reach it, someone grabs me by the shoulders, and when I look up, I’m greeted by a much more welcome face: Kellin.

“Vic,” he gasps. “What the fuck—what are you _doing_?” His voice, shrill and panicky, rings in my ears. “You _idiot_!” he yells, though I think he’s less angry and more upset. “You fucking idiot, oh my God, I have to get you out of here, holy shit…”

He takes me by the hand and leads me outside, nudging me into the passenger seat of my car and hopping into the driver’s side. I can’t even register how anxious I am at this before he turns the car on and starts driving.

“Where were you?” I ask slowly, feeling like I’m only half-conscious.

“In the bathroom,” Kellin says, his breath shaky. “I wouldn’t have taken so long, but there was this kid maybe a year younger than us who was super drunk and throwing up and having a breakdown, and nobody else was in there and I felt like I had to help him and— _God_.” I can see him pulling at his hair with one hand. “I thought you’d be okay. I didn’t think. I’m so sorry; this is all my fault. If I’d have come back sooner…”

I want to tell him not to blame himself for my addiction, but the world is closing in on me, and before I can even think about how I want to articulate my thoughts, I’m out.

—

_Stay at the Four Seasons hotel. Get the “Ritual for Two” spa package. Take a selfie with the champagne at the end.  
Song: Atlanta Song - David Allan Coe_

Kellin insists on driving to Atlanta for at least the first couple hours, despite my protests. But I have an awful hangover and didn’t sleep very well last night, so I let him take control of the wheel because I know it’s for the best. I still can’t help the horrible anxiety that rushes through me, though, and no matter how hard I try to reason my way out of it, my heart still races at the sight of him in the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Kellin says softly once we’ve made it onto the highway. “Look at me. Look around at everyone else. You’re okay. We’re okay. Nothing’s gonna happen to us.”

I nod slowly, taking deep breaths in an attempt at calming myself down. Kellin is driving perfectly smoothly, but I still feel like I should be the one behind the wheel, the one in control. “You sure we’re okay?”

“Of course,” Kellin replies. “Trust me, Vic. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to either of us.”

I’m still kind of terrified, but my pounding headache and my need for sleep win out against my fear, and I find myself drifting off into nothingness.

When I wake up a couple hours later, we’re at a rest stop where Kellin and I get out and switch places. I automatically feel much more comfortable now that I’m the one driving, but I’m also kind of impressed that I managed to make it this far. Maybe I trust Kellin more than I do most other people.

We sit in mutual silence for a little while, and then Kellin speaks up: “What happened last night, Vic?”

I know what he’s talking about, but I’m not sure how to respond. “I just…I guess I just kind of lost it.”

Kellin stares at me for a few seconds, biting his lip. “You wouldn’t mind telling me why, would you?”

Oddly enough, with the way that the question’s phrased, he actually sounds completely genuine, as if he’d like to know what triggered such a reaction but would completely understand if I didn’t want to tell him. I do kind of want to tell him, though. I want him to know why I did it.

I sigh. “Mike and Tony have been having relationship issues for a while now,” I say finally. “Mike’s going down a bad road. Tony’s just trying to help him, but he keeps saying that he doesn’t need any help and that Tony’s just controlling him or something. Last night Tony called to tell me that he thinks their relationship is coming to an end…Mike says he wants a divorce.” I tighten my grip on the steering wheel ever-so-slightly. “I didn’t think. I didn’t try to figure out how to help him, I didn’t consider calling Mike and talking to him…it was too much to deal with at the moment. I just couldn’t handle it. The idea that yet another love could be going down the drain…it’s been fucking me up, and I guess last night I just snapped. I couldn’t deal with how upset I was over what was happening, and I couldn’t deal with feeling so helpless. I relapsed. I went back to my go-to stress reliever.”

Kellin listens intently, and when I’m done, he seems to think for a moment before replying. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Then, after a short pause, he adds, “Remember how I told you that it wasn’t your fault that I’ve been so bitter? That I’m just a little fucked up lately?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, but I don’t dare to say anything else.

Kellin takes a deep breath, pain written on his face as he runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s because my sister killed herself.”

It takes a few seconds for me to register, and when I do, it feels like my heart has dropped down into my stomach. “Oh my God, Kellin.”

Kellin closes his eyes, shaking his head. “She was in an abusive relationship. I told you about her before, I think, but I didn’t tell you she was my sister. She got out of it before I met you, but…the trauma ate her alive. And then she saw him again—her abuser—one night when she was walking around alone. I remember she called me, all hysterical, telling me she couldn’t do it anymore. I tried to calm her down, but she hung up on me…by the time I was able to figure out where she was, it was too late.” His voice is shaky, and he keeps blinking, as if to fight back tears. “Just when I thought I was getting better with heights, and she jumps off a building.”

I can hardly bear to hear him talk.

“It fucked me up so badly,” he continues. “It hurt when you broke up with me, but I’d lived without you before, and I figured I could do it again. But she was born a year after me; I don’t have any memories of before I knew her. I’d always known her. She’s always been right by my side, through everything. I cut off any friends I had because I just didn’t know what else to do, how else to deal with it. I know now that I should’ve just opened up, but instead I put up every wall that I still had down. I don’t know how to undo it. I don’t know how to tell Matty that I miss him and that I’m sorry I refused to talk to him or tell him what was going on and that I wish we were still friends. There’s a lot going on in my head lately, Vic. I’m just trying to figure out how to be happy again. How to enjoy myself and my life even when she’s dead and gone.” He sends me a sad little half-smile. “Remember when we said we’d tell each other all our secrets? There’s another one of mine.”

I don’t know what to say, don’t know what sort of response could possibly be enough. “I’m so sorry, Kell.”

Kellin shrugs. “I’m just…I just feel better now that I’ve told you. Now that I’ve told somebody.”

I nod silently in agreement, trying my best to comprehend what he’s gone through recently, but in the back of my mind, all I can think is that I’ve still got a secret of my own: the secret of how I feel about him, the secret I’m not sure I’ll ever tell him.


	17. Mesmerizing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehh i dont feel like explaining myself twice (already did in the author’s note of my badlands fic) but basically i would literally die before i let this story go abandoned and i’m not dead so here ya go

The next morning, I wake up before Kellin in our Four Seasons room in Atlanta. It’s a five-star hotel and probably the fanciest place I’ve ever stayed in. Bree sent me a message saying she booked a room for us way in advance for one night (which apparently means we’re right on schedule, I guess?); it seems that after our little spa treatment today, we should prepare to move to a different location.

Deciding not to wait any longer, I grab my phone off the nightstand and dial Mike’s number. Part of me isn’t even certain he’ll pick up, but this way is faster than sending him texts that he can ignore and waiting endlessly for him to respond. Even if he declines my call, I can still call him again and annoy him until he picks up, because that’s what brothers do.

Surprisingly, after a few rings, I hear his tired voice: “Hello?”

“Mike,” I say, trying to keep my own voice down so that I don’t wake Kellin up. “We. Need. To talk.”

Mike groans. “Is this about me and Tony? Vic, I really don’t—”

“Listen to me,” I interrupt, desperate for him to understand. “Listen to me if you won’t listen to him. You cannot let your own problems ruin this.”

“You don’t understand,” he says. “He’s stifling me, Vic. I feel like I can’t do what I want.”

“How is he stifling you?” I ask. I figure it’s best to get both sides of the story, even though I already have a pretty good idea of what’s going on.

“He doesn’t like me going out,” Mike says. “He argues with me when I say I’m going to a bar or club or something. I swear I’m not hooking up with anyone; I’ve just been…” He trails off.

“Just been what?” I prompt, but I already know the answer. “Drinking? Drowning your sorrows in alcohol?” I know it because I’ve been through it myself. Our family is prone to alcoholism.

“Maybe,” he says slowly, even though we both know that I’m right. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m just having fun. It’s not hurting anybody.”

“It’s hurting you, and it’s hurting Tony,” I tell him. “Mike, you’ve seen me addicted. So has Tony. Now that you’re in a similar situation, he’s scared for you. All he wants is for you to get help.”

“I don’t need any help,” Mike says immediately. Typical. “I’m fine.”

“Tony would not be this worried if you were fine,” I say. “He’s seen you drunk before. He knows your limits. It seems to me like you’re going way over your limits. I’m telling you, Mike, the first step towards recovery is recognizing that you’ve got a problem.”

“I don’t—” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Maybe I get drunk a lot. Like, a _lot_. Maybe I need to drink a lot more than I used to so I can get smashed. Maybe I’ve been having trouble living with myself lately, and drinking makes it easier. Okay? There. Happy?”

“So you admit that there’s something wrong? That things aren’t how they used to be?”

He sighs. “I used to feel good without any sort of substances in my body. I used to make Tony happy, not worried. I get defensive with him. I guess the only reason I’m not that snappy with you is because you know about these things.”

“I used to get defensive, too,” I say. “We all want to believe there’s nothing wrong, Mike. So listen: if you truly don’t feel anything for Tony anymore, then I suggest going ahead with the divorce. But if there’s a larger part of you that wants to try to save your marriage, try to save yourself—even if it’s hard—then I’d suggest not giving up just yet. Okay?”

Mike is silent for a moment, and then he quietly says, “Okay.” I think he’s going to hang up, but then, out of nowhere, he asks, “So how’s that band thing going? Last I heard, you were driving up to Oregon to join some band you’ve never met before.”

I almost choke on my breath, realizing that I haven’t even told any of the guys what’s been going on. I feel like I haven’t really had the time, and chances are, they’ve been busy, too. “Um. Yeah. About that.” I clear my throat. “It’s a very long story, but to shorten it up…I may or may not be on a road trip with Kellin again. And I may or may not be staying in a fancy hotel in Atlanta right now.”

“You— _what_?” Mike sputters out. “How did _that_ happen?”

“Turns out, Kellin was the lead singer of the band I’d never met before. Remember his weird ex-girlfriend who sent us on the first road trip? Yeah, she decided that she wanted us to make up after our little fallout. And now here we are.”

Mike makes a low whistling sound. “Wow. That’s unexpected. How’s it going with him, then? Did you two make up?”

I glance over at where Kellin is still (thankfully) asleep. “Ehh,” I say vaguely. “It’s complicated.”

Mike snorts. “Figures. I’d ask if you need to talk about it, but my relationship advice would probably be shit.”

I laugh a little. “It’s fine, dude. I think it’s best if he and I figure it out on our own anyway.”

“Okay,” Mike says. “Well, um…thanks for calling. Really.”

I nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll talk to you later?” I say.

“Of course,” Mike replies. “Talk to you later. Promise.” Then he hangs up.

—

The “Ritual for Two” spa package is, predictably, designed for couples (which is presumably why Bree, matchmaker that she is, chose it for us). It also, of course, happens to be one of the most expensive treatments available, since it’s a two-person package—though Bree insists that she’s got it covered. How, I don’t think I’ll ever know.

I haven’t been to many spas in my lifetime, but even I can tell right from the beginning that this one is high-class and that the workers are very good at what they do. The atmosphere is calm and soothing like nothing I’ve ever experienced, all soft lighting and lit candles. Even with Kellin and I together in next to nothing but our robes, I can’t feel any sort of awkwardness or tension.

The treatment is split up into two sections: an aromatherapy massage and a facial. I don’t know much about either one, but the masseuses explain what they’re doing. The aromatherapy in particular helps a lot with my emotional state, especially considering how dramatic the past few days have been. It feels as if all my troubles are just washing right off of me.

Every once in a while, I glance over at Kellin, and it occurs to me just how exposed we both are, just how much of a bonding experience it really is even if we’re both wrapped up in our own individual treatment. Kellin’s expressions are uninhibited, and I’m sure I look the same—the looks on his face range from calm and content to something like euphoria. At one point, he and I look over at each other at the same time, and his gaze meets mine. He flashes me a wide smile, looking fearless and truly peaceful for the first time in a long time. I smile back at him, and for a few blissful seconds, we hold that moment with all we’ve got, neither of us sure when to let go.

“So,” one of the masseuses says, “how long have you two been together?”

That snaps us both out of our mutual trance, reminding me that this is a couples’ treatment. I’m relieved that they’re not openly homophobic, at least, but I’m also kind of at a loss for words, caught completely off guard with no explanation prepared—how do I tell them that our relationship status is basically the “It’s Complicated” option on Facebook?

Thankfully, Kellin saves me. “Um, we met a little over a year ago,” he says truthfully, winking at me in a way that I could only describe as flirty.

“Hmm,” the masseuse hums. “What made you decide to come here?”

Kellin and I exchange glances, unsure how to explain that most of our “deciding” is done by a devious girl named Bree. “It just kind of, uh, happened,” I say with a short laugh. “Minimal planning involved.”

We both come out amazingly refreshed and much more calm than before. Like Bree said, we’re served a bit of champagne at the end. Kellin takes the picture while I hold the glass, and then afterward he offers to drink mine for me. “Just because—well, you know.”

“Go ahead,” I tell him as he posts the picture online. “I don’t need it.”

—

_For the next two nights, you’ll be sleeping in a treehouse—I’ve already booked your stay. At some point, take a short video called “Kellin and Vic Fight Voldemort” (even if you don’t actually fight Voldemort) because I am tired of all these boring video titles._

Through a quick Google search, Kellin and I find the treehouse she’s talking about. The checkout time for Four Seasons is noon, but we can’t check in to our treehouse until two, so we pack up all our stuff and then decide to explore the city for a few hours. I mostly let Kellin lead, since I don’t really have any ideas myself, and we find ourselves at a random pub for lunch.

“I really wanted a treehouse when I was little,” Kellin says as we’re waiting for our food. “Until I tried to climb a tree one time and fell down and broke my arm. Then I decided I’d pass.”

I snort. “My brother did that once. I told him he was gonna get hurt, but he didn’t listen. And then he fell and blamed me and said I told him to do it.”

“Typical,” Kellin says, resting his head in his hand, his expression turning slightly distant. I realize then that he’s probably still sensitive to the mention of siblings—it reminds him that he no longer has one.

“You know,” I say slowly in an attempt to change the subject, “I think she’d be proud of you. Your sister.”

Skeptically, Kellin raises an eyebrow. “Proud? Why?”

I shrug. “Because you didn’t let it eat you alive. Because you got to the point that you could admit everything, to yourself and to me. Because you’ve been smiling again. I’m sure she’d be glad to see how you looked at the spa today. How peaceful you looked.” _And how beautiful._

Kellin, his eyes trained on the table, glances back up at me. “Peaceful,” he repeats softly, nodding. “Yeah. I did feel peaceful. And I hope I can feel it again someday.”

It’s around two o'clock by the time we finish lunch, but instead of checking in immediately, we figure we’ll hang out for a while yet. One of the places that we end up at is the Centennial Olympic Park, where Kellin promptly runs through the “Fountain of Rings,” a series of bouncing fountains in the shape of the Olympic Rings, and then calls for me to join him. After some time exploring and talking, we take our time browsing different shops downtown.

We don’t check in until after dinner, but when we do, I’m kind of glad that we waited because I don’t think I’m going to want to leave now that I’m here. The treehouse is made up of three compartments—a living room, a bedroom, and a deck—all connected to each other by suspension bridges and decorated with fairy lights that, in the twilight, make it look like a fantasy dream. The hosts of the place introduce themselves and give us a little tour of the whole thing; it’s very rustic and filled with all sorts of intricate details and antiques, as well as stocked with wine and snacks. It feels like we’re closer to nature but also secluded at the same time.

By the time we’re alone, it’s pretty dark outside. I’m sitting on the couch in the living room, taking in the scenery, when suddenly, Kellin comes up to me with his phone held up, as if he’s taking a video. “Ready to fight Voldemort?”

I snort. “That’s not something you just casually ask someone.”

Kellin rolls his eyes, switches to the front camera, and says in a more high-pitched voice, “Oh my God, Kellin, you can’t just ask someone whether or not they’re ready to fight Voldemort.”

I just laugh. “What’s that from, again? _Legally Blonde_?”

“ _Mean Girls_ , dummy,” Kellin corrects, making a dramatically shocked face at the phone camera.

I raise my hands in surrender. “Sorry, I got them mixed up. I’ve never actually seen either of them.”

Kellin gasps even more dramatically. “Vic, I can’t believe I’ve known you this long and I haven’t forced you to watch _Mean Girls_ yet. We’ll have to have a movie night sometime. Truly a cinematic masterpiece.”

He turns around and heads for the bridge leading to the bed. “Come on,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him. “I’ve got, like, thirty seconds left and I wanna show the world this badass treehouse.”

I follow him as he waves his phone around, pausing at certain features of the bedroom, such as the little desk and the bed itself, which can be slept on indoors but can also be wheeled out onto an outdoor platform under the stars and just above a stream. “Beautiful,” Kellin says primly, blowing a kiss at the camera. “‘Kay, I’m out.” That’s the moment, I assume, when Instagram ends his sixty-second video.

He sits down on the bed, humming while he captions and posts the little video. I can’t help but watch as he types—everything about him pulls me to him, and though he’s changed since the first time we met, the feeling is similar. He’s mesmerizing.

When he’s done, he sets his phone down and flops down on his back, sighing deeply. “Come try this,” he says as he stretches out. “It’s super comfy.”

I shrug and lie down next to him, propping my head up with one hand. Admittedly, it’s a fantastic mattress. “Hmm. You’re right.”

Kellin meets my gaze, flashing a grin that disappears a few seconds later after neither of us break eye contact. In that moment, my heart aches with want. “Kellin,” I say slowly.

Kellin’s eyes flit down to my lips for the briefest of seconds. Then, before I can even begin to think about what that means, he leans forward and bridges the gap.

The kiss is soft and sweet at first, but it quickly deepens, Kellin grabbing onto the collar of my shirt and sucking on my bottom lip. Breaking away, he says quietly, “I’ve missed this.”

My breath catches—I’m not even sure how to respond. “I—um—” I stutter. “I thought we were just friends.”

Kellin’s mouth quirks up. “Yeah,” he agrees, “we are. Friends can do this.” He crawls onto my lap, his eyes shining with something new: desire. “It’s called ‘having benefits.’”

I wish we could maybe have something more than that, but if “friends with benefits” is as close as I’ll ever get, I’m eager and willing to take it. Besides, I’ve missed this, too.

Kellin leans down, leaving light kisses all up and down my neck and collarbone, all while rocking himself on me. I rest my hands on his hips, and when he lifts his head up, I take the liberty of reconnecting our lips in another long-awaited kiss. Friends, enemies, lovers—no matter what we are, I’ll never get tired of those beautiful lips of his.

Kellin reaches one hand into my hair, the other draped around my neck as my tongue brushes the outside of his mouth, which he opens slightly in order to let me in. I kiss him like I’m starving—I haven’t felt this electrified in a long, long time.

Suddenly, Kellin breaks the kiss off, winking at me without a word as he hops off the bed. I start to ask him what he’s doing, but I figure it out halfway through my question: he’s closing all the doors and windows so that not even the birds will hear us.

After that, he reaches into one of our many shopping bags from earlier and pulls out something completely unexpected: a brand new bottle of lube.

The smirk on his face says it all. “I was just in such a good mood today,” he says. “And so were you. So I figured, just in case…”

I just shake my head in awe. He’s confusing as hell, and I’m not quite sure how far his intentions go, but I know now that I haven’t been imagining the occasional frustrated looks that he gives me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.

“I like the way you think,” I tell him, starting to pull off my shirt. Tossing it to the floor, I add, “At the very least, now we can both say we got laid in a treehouse.”

Kellin pulls his own shirt off, grinning as he sets the lube on the nearby desk and climbs back into the bed. Immediately, I pull him back down on top of me, resuming our kisses as Kellin grinds on me more roughly. We’re both half-hard before long, so Kellin slides down to the end of the bed, playing with the hem of my jeans. “Just take ‘em off already,” I say with a laugh, starting to pull them off myself; when they’re partway down, he yanks them the rest of the way off and throws them to the floor as if they’re on fire, leaving me in nothing but my boxers.

Kellin pulls his own pants off, too. When he starts to climb back up and sit himself on my lap with his legs wrapped around my waist, I take the opportunity to start palming him, turning him on even more. “Why don’t you show me just how much you missed this, huh?” I tease.

Kellin responds by snatching the lube off the desk and handing it to me, then taking his boxers off. He doesn’t have to say anything—I already know what he wants me to do.

After opening the bottle of lube, I squirt some into my hands and spread it onto my fingers. Kellin sits down in my lap again, but he lifts himself up a little bit so that I can reach around and slide one finger into him. He tenses up at first but quickly nods for me to add a second one, all while rocking himself slightly in order to get used to the feeling. I have to go slower by the third finger, but before I know it, he’s telling me that he’s used to it, that he’s ready for me.

I pull my fingers out and take my own boxers off now, then proceed to lube myself up. I’m getting hornier by the second now; after so long without Kellin, I need to be inside him.

When I’m ready, Kellin rests both hands on my shoulders and starts to lower himself down on me, letting out an adorably tiny squeak at first. Taking deep breaths, he moves his body down farther, and I wiggle my hips a little to make it easier on him. Slowly, steadily, he starts to ride me, making little moans as he moves.

I hold onto his hips again, letting him kiss me some more as I rock my body in time with his. In return, I lean forward and nip at a spot on his neck, reveling in his increasingly loud noises as I bite and lick at his skin, determined to leave my mark. I moan into his shoulder when he gyrates his hips—I forgot how good he feels.

“You’re so hot,” I breathe into his neck, both of us moving faster now. Eager to please him the way he’s pleasing me, I thrust my hips up hard just as he’s coming down, and he gasps, a soft whine escaping his lips when I hit the perfect spot.

“Right there,” he says, gripping my shoulders more tightly. “Do that again.”

Our bodies move in a rhythm, our moans mixing together until we can barely tell whose is whose. We’re all sweat and sound and lips and hands, and it makes me forget everything surrounding us, both literally and metaphorically. It makes me forget all about our situation; I focus only on him, how gorgeous he is, how lucky I am that I get to have sex with someone so beautiful.

I can feel myself reaching my climax soon, and my movements become clumsier, my thrusts more desperate. Kellin grins and rotates his hips around one more time, and that’s about when I let it all go and come inside of him.

Kellin is almost there, too, so once I’ve finished riding out my high, I reach over and start pumping him up and down, base to tip; sure enough, within a matter of seconds, I’ve got him moaning as he comes on my abdomen (better me than the mattress—I don’t really want to have to potentially explain anything to the hosts).

“Wow,” Kellin says breathlessly, lying down on his stomach. “That was…that was pretty great.”

“It was,” I agree, standing up to clean myself off, and Kellin follows suit.

Now that the euphoria has worn off and I can see things more clearly, I wonder if having sex was a good idea. I’m afraid it’ll just make things more confusing for both of us. As Kellin and I put on some sleep clothes and get ready for bed, I have to remind myself over and over of what he said as we were kissing. _Benefits,_ I tell myself. Sex is just a benefit of our friendship. It means nothing to him, so unless I want to be longing and pining hopelessly for him, it’s going to have to mean nothing to me, too.


End file.
